The Fallen Hawk
by Kitiara Raistlin
Summary: When the Hydra/Shield files are released at the end of Winter Soldier, the Avengers discover that one of their own has been a Hydra agent all along. The Avengers must grapple with the betrayal while Clint tries to make things right.
1. Chapter 1: A Life for a Life

The Shield Hydra files had been released twenty-four hours ago. Every country in the world had set their intelligence departments to start sorting through them. Newspapers and news stations didn't know which to give more time too: the crashing of the platforms from Project Insight, the news of Hydra's survival, Shield being compromised, the involvement of two Avengers, or the discoveries already being made among the files.

Steve and Natasha had arrived at Avengers Tower twelve hours ago. Some place to hide out for a bit and rest up. It was late, and they made it to their separate rooms without seeing anyone else. Steve didn't sleep though. He lay in bed and thought of Bucky. Somehow, someway, he was going to find him. He was going to save him. Bucky had pulled him out of that lake, and there was only one reason why he would have done that. He was still in there, buried under everything Hydra had done to him.

Natasha didn't sleep much either. She pulled off her uniform and tossed it to the floor. She took a shower, changed, and then stood at the window and looked out over the city. She knew she was lucky. Shield had been her anchor once, losing it should have set her adrift. But there were more anchors in her life now. She only hoped Clint would be all right. He'd been in longer. She had sent him a message. She wanted him to hear it from her first. She hadn't heard back. She hoped that wasn't a bad sign.

Sometime in the late morning, after a few hours of sleep, she made her way up to the common room. Steve was already there, brewing some coffee. He looked tired, but trying to hide it. She wondered if he had said anything to the others about Bucky. Bruce and Tony were there as well: Bruce comfortably ensconced in an armchair, with a book, and Tony looking as if he'd just emerged from his lab.

"Hey," Tony waved. "You two have been having quite the adventure without us."

Bruce glanced up from his book. "How are you?" The concern was so clear in his voice.

She smiled. "I'm fine. Thanks."

"Fine? You and Steve are the heroes of the hour!" said Tony. "There _will _be drinks tonight."

"Thanks but I don't feel much like celebrating."

"Here." Steve poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

"Right," said Tony more serious, "I heard about Fury. I'm sorry. I know you'd worked with him for a long time."

Natasha and Steve exchanged a glance. Uncertainty reigning. Fury had made it clear certain things were to be kept…quiet.

The elevator doors slid open, and to the surprise of both, the question was decided for them.

Fury stepped into the room.

"Wow." Tony blinked. "Well that was unexpected and incredible timing. You literally never fail to surprise."

"What are you doing here?" Natasha frowned. "I thought you were keeping a low profile."

"I was planning on it. And then I found something that needed to be dealt with at once."

"What?" Steve came around from behind the counter to stand next to Nat. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes."

Nat recognized at once that Fury seemed both angry and determined. He was holding a file and he held it up now.

"These are print outs of some of the Hydra files." He handed it to her. "I stumbled on the information early this morning. Did you know?"

She frowned, flipped open the file, and began to read the first page, puzzled. Halfway down she caught a familiar name and she froze. She glanced up quickly at Fury. Her expression must have carried enough of her confusion for him to relax a little. Before there had been a dangerous edge to his stance, now it was gone. But the anger was still there. She flipped over to the next page, and then the next.

"What is it?" asked Tony, glancing between the two.

"It's Barton. Turns out," said Fury, "he's been playing me this whole time."

Steve moved closer to look over Nat's shoulder.

"No," she said flatly.

"I've already found enough mission reports to make it pretty clear."

Natasha shut the folder and slammed it down on the counter. "No. There has to be an explanation. Clint isn't a traitor."

"Where is Clint now?" asked Tony; his tone was careful.

"On a mission in Asia, at least supposedly," said Fury. He had been watching Natasha intently but now, he seemed satisfied and turned to Tony. "The files don't leave a lot of doubt, but the surface has only barely been scratched. As far as I'm aware, no one else has found these yet. I want the Avengers to find him before that happens."

Nat shook her head, "You're wrong. I don't care what the files say, Clint never worked for Hydra."

"It's in the records."

"I don't care! The records are lying."

"No they're not," said a voice from the staircase. Everyone turned. Clint was standing there. His expression was close to blank. Nat doubted anyone else in the room would be able to read it. But she could: she could see the defeat there, the exhaustion, and the devastation. It reminded her of when he woke up from Loki's control and asked her how many agents had died. She also noticed that while he was dressed in his Hawkeye armor, he had divested himself of every weapon. Even the hidden ones. She knew where to look. Only the most highly trained eye could have spotted them, or their absence, and only if it knew where to look. She had both. He had purposefully come unarmed.

He met her eyes, and whatever he saw there, made his mask crack for a fraction of a second, showing an even deeper layer of grief, before he pulled it back on and crossed over to the bar.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "What happened to Asia?"

"I came back when I heard the news about Shield. I hoped I could be the one to tell Nat…it seems Fury beat me to it."

Nat noticed that Fury's hand was hovering in the vicinity of his sidearm, prepared, just in case. She glanced toward Steve…she didn't think she'd ever seen him look this angry. It surprised her.

"Are you trying to tell us this is true? You're with Hydra?" Steve asked his voice tense as if he were trying to hang on to control.

Clint poured himself a drink and downed it. He stared at the empty glance for a moment then turned to face Steve. "Hail Hydra," he said sarcastically, the bitterness clear in his voice. Nat flinched. "Not that there's not much Hydra left, so ex-Hydra might be more accurate."

"Wow." Tony let out a deep breath. "I did not see this coming."

Nat crossed her arms, and dug her nails into her flesh.

"Did you know about Bucky?" asked Steve.

"Bucky?" Clint frowned, confused.

"Did you know Hydra had Bucky? What they did to him? That he was the Winter Soldier?"

"The Asset?" Clint blinked, at a loss, then shook his head. "I've never known who the Asset is. Whose Bucky?"

"Didn't know and didn't care," snapped Steve, turning away.

"How long?" asked Fury. "How long were you working with them?"

Clint stared down at his empty drink. Nat saw a flicker of reluctance in his expression, as if he didn't want to admit the truth. "Before I ever joined Shield."

She took a deep breath. He looked towards her. She saw a plead in his gaze, wanting her to understand, begging her not to hate him.

Fury swore.

Clint poured himself another drink. "They recruited me, and then introduced me into Shield. They thought I could get close to you," he said, glancing at Fury. "They were right."

"What about Project Insight?" Steve said, turning back again. "Did you know what Hydra had planned? How all of us where on their target list?"

"No. They haven't exactly…trusted me lately."

"Why not?" It was Bruce who asked the question. He had taken off his glasses and was studying Clint.

Clint shrugged. There was beat, as everyone waited for him to say something. There was nothing.

"That's not good enough," said Fury. "Why haven't they trusted you?"

Clint tensed and then appeared to force himself to relax. "Partly because of Nat. Ever since she joined Shield, Pierce…didn't trust me with as much intel. I was supposed to recruit Nat for Hydra. And I refused. Then the Avengers happened. I wasn't exactly as…informative about them as they wanted me to be. Pierce started to have even more doubts."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nat asked. She spoke quietly, but it seemed to ring throughout the room. Everyone else stilled.

He stared at her. "I never wanted to do that to you." It wasn't just Nat who could hear the shame in his voice now.

She knew at once what he meant. He would never have put her in that position. She owed him, she had a debt to pay, and he would have let Hydra kill him before he made her choose between paying that debt by taking a path she'd sworn she'd never return to or breaking her loyalty to him.

_But there'd been another way,_ she thought, suddenly angry, _you could have left them. You could have come to me for help._

"Even if you didn't know about Project Insight, you knew what Hydra was," said Steve flatly.

"Yes I did," said Clint. The mask was shattered completely now, the self-loathing evident. "Eventually."

"Eventually? What's that supposed to mean?"

"They recruited me when I was nineteen. I was lost. I was a kid with nothing to believe in and they gave me something to believe in. It took years before I understood exactly who and what Hydra was. And by then it was too late."

"It was never too late to come to me," snapped Fury. "I would have thought-." He stopped and shook his head.

Clint shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "So what happens now?" He opened his eyes again.

"Now?"

"Yes. I assume you're going to take me into custody. I'm not going to resist."

"No." It was Nat who spoke; spoke before anyone else even had a chance to form a thought. Fury glanced at her. She crossed the room towards Clint. "No."

"Nat…" Was he pleading with her? For what? To be taken in? Or to be let go? She honestly couldn't tell. She wasn't sure he knew either.

"You gave me my life once. You saw something in me that no one else saw, not even myself. So now I'm going to give you yours."

"Natasha," it was Steve speaking. "Fury found those files. Other people are going to as well and then they're going to come for him. We can't fight the law."

"I'm not saying he can stay here," said Nat. She glanced back at Clint. "Go home."

He blinked.

"Home?" Tony asked, curious. "I thought this was his home." Natasha ignored him.

"Go home, and stay there. Anywhere else, I can't guarantee your safety."

"Nat," he took a step towards her but she held up her hand.

"Just, go." She couldn't, not right now. The betrayal was too raw.

He stood for a moment, staring at her, and then slowly nodded. "I am sorry."

"I know." Her voice was emotionless, even Clint couldn't tell exactly what was going on inside her in that moment.

He set down his drink, and slowly, glancing at the others in the room, waiting to see if any would object, made his way to the elevators. As the doors slid shut behind him, Fury finally relaxed, moving his hand away from his gun.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

Nat didn't answer. She knew how things appeared. She knew Clint had been a traitor, a mole, and she had never guessed. She of all people, one of the best spies in the world, had been completely fooled. As had Fury. And she'd just let him walk away.

But despite how much all the evidence seemed to point to the contrary, she knew, deep down, that she still knew what kind of man Clint Barton was at heart.

"Nat," Bruce had risen and come towards her. "Are you okay?"

She looked over at him.

Natasha Romanoff didn't cry. She had lost too much, had had too much pain, too much betrayal, for anything to reach that corner of her emotions ever again. So even though it felt as if a part of her had just been ripped in two, she didn't cry now.

She just walked away and left the room.

* * *

As the elevators closed behind him, Clint stumbled towards the wall. His vision was tunneling, his breath coming in short bursts, panic shot fire through his head. He'd kept so much compartmentalized and separate in his mind for so many years, and now a wrecking ball had come crashing through, knocking down walls that had gathered dust with age.

"…Barton? Agent Barton?"

He blinked. The blackness receding, his vision clearing. He found that he'd sunk to his heels on the elevator floor. One hand was gripping the railing above him, the other lay palm down on the floor, trying to balance himself.

Clint forced a shaky breath.

"Agent Barton? Are you all right?" Jarvis's voiced filled the space.

"Yes." Clint stood up. For a moment he wavered, his knees weak. But he'd forced himself through worse. He forced himself through this. "I'm fine Jarvis."

"Should I send for someone?"

"No!" The thought of having to face any of the Avengers again practically sent him back down to the floor. "I'm okay."

"….do you want to be let off on the floor to your room?" asked Jarvis. The words 'to pack' were left out of the question.

Dang. Tony really was a genius. He'd invented an AI with tact.

But there wasn't any need to pack. His go bag and his weapons were still in his vehicle.

"No, take me to the garage."

The ride down was silent. Clint spent most of it keeping his breath steady and his legs firmly planted on the ground. He couldn't quite wrap his head around how weak and tired he suddenly felt. It was as if all the strain of the double life he'd been forced to live had suddenly called in to collect now that it was all over. But he had to keep it together because he couldn't risk Jarvis overriding his wishes and sending for help, which the AI would be more than capable of doing if he thought Clint was in real trouble.

When the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, he moved to exit.

"Good bye, Agent Barton." Clint froze, one foot out of the door. "Please do return soon." Jarvis's voice was gentle and kind. There was no resentment in it, and yet there was understanding.

"Thank you Jarvis."

As he walked out into the garage and towards his vehicle, Clint tried very hard not to face the fact that his life had just shattered into a thousand pieces, and even harder not to face the fact that he had only himself to blame.


	2. Chapter 2: Holding On

Clint sat in the car, staring at the front door of his house. Shame was eating through him. Shame and disgust. He'd carried it for years now, but had always kept it shoved in a corner. Now it was running rampant through his head.

He wasn't sure what was worse: telling Nat or telling Laura. How could he tell her? How could he admit he'd been lying all this time? He'd lose her. He had to after he told her. She couldn't forgive him. She _shouldn't _forgive him. He didn't deserve forgiveness. He hadn't deserved what Nat had given him in letting him go.

His brain felt stretched and frayed, and he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. He hadn't slept since he'd gotten Natasha's message. He could still feel the shock from that moment. He had felt his life falling apart, the ground slipping from under him.

Deep down he'd always known that there had to be an end somewhere to the double life and the lies. But somehow, in recent years, he'd thought that end would be a bullet in the back of the head from Hydra. Somewhere, in a safety deposit box, were video messages to Laura and Natasha, trying to explain, only to be viewed on the event of his death. He hadn't thought he'd be alive for this. He hadn't wanted to be.

He dug his nails into the leather of the steering wheel.

The only silver lining was that with Hydra gone, Laura and the children were finally safe. Their location had been secure, or at least as secure as it could be given Hydra's reach, but Hydra had _known_, and that fear had always been an ever present factor in his life.

Nineteen years old. He'd been so lost and confused. Rudderless. He'd looked down into an abyss and seen his life heading down there, and it had scared him in a way nothing else ever had in his entire life, nothing until he'd gotten Nat's message that was. And back then he'd been offered a chance. A chance to make a difference. A chance to make the world a better place. A chance to believe in something, and have people who believed in him. At least that's what he'd thought.

It'd been a slow, torturous realization that all of that was a pack of lies.

By the time he had seen the truth…it had been too late. Or he had thought it was. Hydra had become the monster in the dark inside his head. It had seemed all encompassing. All powerful. And unescapable. All the things he had been frightened of at nineteen had taken shape and become the very thing that had offered him an escape from those nightmares.

And since he was nineteen he had heard of the reach of Hydra, he had heard of their power, he had seen it in action. And there were somethings he hadn't been willing to risk, even in the reclamation of his own soul.

He leaned back again in his seat and looked at the house again. He loved that house. He loved the people inside it. And he'd let them down. Just like he'd let down Nat. Fury. The Avengers. There were somethings that couldn't be fixed. Some breaks that caused too many fractures no matter how desperate you were to repair it.

There was movement behind the curtains.

Laura was awake.

It was time. Time to shatter the last bit of his life.

Reluctantly, he got out of the car and closed the door. He didn't bother to get his things. He expected to be back in the car shortly. Laura would never be able to forgive him. He wasn't sure where he'd go. But he could worry about that after…after he'd lost the last things that were still dear to him.

He crossed the yard, ascended the stairs, and for one moment stood at the door, and put off the inevitable for just a little longer, taking in the moment, trying to capture it forever, and then with a deep breath, he entered.

Laura was in the living room putting away a stack of books. She turned at the sound of the door, let out his name in delight, dropped the books on the coffee table and rushed towards him. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

He held on for dear life, burying his face in her hair, taking in the scent of her perfume, the feel of her in his arms.

She sensed the desperation in his hold, knew this wasn't a normal embrace. He felt her still for a moment in concern and then hold onto him tighter, wanting to give him her strength, her love, her comfort. He hadn't thought he could hurt anymore. But her selfless trust in him made his heart splinter further.

They stood in the hall like that for several minutes. He knew Laura would give him all the time he needed. But he also was acutely aware of Cooper and Lila sleeping upstairs. He had to tell Laura before they woke. Briefly he wondered if she'd let him say goodbye to them. What would she tell them later? How would she explain? How could he ever have forced her in a position like this?

He pulled away and she looked up into his face, holding her hand to his cheek. She didn't say anything. Not wanting to push him, wanting to give him space if that was what he needed, willing to do what it took to give him her peace.

"I need to talk to you," he said, gruffly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "There's something I…there's something you need to know."

She led him to the couch, and sat down beside him. He gripped her hand, wanting strength, knowing that at some point she was going to pull away, and that would be the moment he knew he'd lost her for good.

And he began to talk.

* * *

Natasha upped the speed of the treadmill. Sweat crawled down her back, tendrils of hair slipped from her ponytail. She kept running, speed pushing out unwanted thoughts.

She heard the sound of the gym door sliding open and ignored it. She heard footsteps, someone clearing his throat, and then Bruce coming up along the side of her.

"Hey."

She ignored him.

"I'm just coming to check on you."

"I'm fine." She hit the speed up button again.

"Right." He didn't move.

"I said I was fine," she snapped.

"You know, it's okay to be angry. Believe me: I of all people have learned that the hard way."

"Bruce, I _don't _want to talk, okay?"

"You might not want to, but sometimes you have to."

She rolled her eyes. "I thought you weren't 'that kind of doctor'?"

He smiled. "No. But I am your friend. And I want to help you."

"I appreciate it, but I really don't need it."

Bruce moved, coming round to the front of the treadmill. He smiled wryly. "You do at least get the irony of what you're doing, right?"

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You are literally trying to run away from a problem you can't run away from, on a _treadmill_, which involves a lot running and not getting anywhere."

She slammed the off switch. "What is there to talk about? Clint did what he did, I did what I did. It's over. Talking about it doesn't change anything. It's just the business. It's over. It's done."

"Nat."

She took a deep breath. "I can't Bruce. Okay? I just can't."

He nodded. "All right. But know that I am here when you need me. Because if there is one thing I've learned, running away from the problem never helps."

As he left the room, and she turned the treadmill back on.

* * *

Laura hadn't pulled her hand away. She hadn't said anything as he'd spoken, and he'd told her all of it. Not just the bare facts. He'd told her what Hydra was, all of it, the things he'd done for them, the lives he'd taken, the atrocities he was directly and indirectly responsible for. The betrayals he'd committed. She had gone quite still, her hand was cold in his, but she'd not pulled away.

He hadn't been able to keep looking at a few minutes in. He was staring down at the floor, where Cooper had left a toy car at the foot of the coffee table. The silence was deafening.

"Why didn't you tell me?" said Laura at last, her voice gentle but the hurt evident.

It was what Nat had said. It nearly broke him.

"I…" He didn't want to say it. But he had to. She deserved the truth. "Was ashamed. And I didn't want to lose you."

"Clint." She leaned forward and wrapped her arm around his neck, kissing him on the check. "I love you. And I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You should."

"I know who you are deep down. The mistakes you made, doesn't change that."

He struggled for a moment and then whispered. "What about the kids? We have to tell them. They'll find out."

"They love you too."

"They were proud of me." _They thought I was hero._

"They still will be. You still saved New York. You still stopped the invasion. And they'll understand that you love them. They'll be confused. But we can explain it to them. We'll do this together."

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Clint stood up abruptly, turning to the fireplace, to wipe his eyes before Lila bounded into the room.

"Mama I'm- Daddy!"

He forced a smile and turned, crouching down to meet her as she threw herself across the rooms and into his arms.

Cooper soon followed his sister, but Laura expertly drove both children into the kitchen, before kissing Clint.

"Go to bed," she said. "We can talk to the kids later."

"I'm not sure I can sleep."

"Really? Because you look dead on your feet. Go."

Obediently, he headed upstairs and to their bedroom. He couldn't believe he wasn't heading out the door, or at best fighting to save his marriage.

Laura was sticking by him. Laura loved him despite everything. He never felt less deserving.

He stripped off his Hawkeye suit and tossed it in a corner. He supposed he wouldn't be needing that again. He tried not think about it. Instead he changed into some jeans and a t-shirt, and lay down on the bed, not bothering to get under the blankets. He didn't expect to sleep. There was too much rattling around in his head.

But his body had other plans. It was exhausted, running on close to seventy hours of no sleep and emotional strain.

His head had barely hit the pillow before he'd drifted off, and mercifully, didn't dream.


	3. Chapter 3: I Don't Deserve This

"Knock, knock."

Tony glanced round and smiled as Pepper crossed the lab floor towards him. "You know, you don't need to say 'knock, knock' when the door literally slides open for you."

"Hello to you too."

He set down the screw driver, and swirled his chair towards her. "I thought you were in LA for meetings until Friday."

"I was."

"But?"

"But after your message, I thought you might need some emotional support."

"Hand to hold? Shoulder to cry on? Sweet but I'm fine."

"It's okay if you're not."

"If you want to go comfort someone, try Nat. Barton was her friend."

"He was your friend too."

Tony shrugged, and picked back up the screwdriver, fiddling with it between his fingers. "Yeah, well. These things happen," he said, trying to sound casual.

"I'm just worried. You're not always one to talk about your emotions and you're not exactly the most trusting person as it is."

He shrugged. "Looks like I've got good reason."

"Sentences like that are exactly why I'm worried." She took one of his hands. "I just want you to know that I'm here if you need to talk about it. I know the Avengers are important to you. So I know, however flippantly you _will_ pretend to deal with this, that it does hurt."

He stared up at her. She was right of course. Pepper was always right. But he wasn't about to admit that thoughts of Clint had been chased around the inside of his head by memories of Obadiah. So instead he flashed a grin and winked.

"If I pretend to tear up do I get a kiss?"

She rolled her eyes, but kissed him nonetheless.

* * *

Clint opened his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't remember why he was back at the farmhouse, he couldn't remember why his brain felt like a twisted knot, and then it all came crashing back, that one moment of oblivion making the knowledge that much worse.

He heard the sound of laughter downstairs. Cooper's he thought. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he noticed it was late afternoon. He let out a sigh and dragged himself out of bed. There was nothing to be gained by avoiding the inevitable. And in this case the inevitable was getting out of bed and figuring out how to keep on going.

Downstairs, Lila and Cooper were sitting at the kitchen table. Lili was playing with Legos, as Cooper colored. Laura was in the background, baking. She always baked when she had something on her mind.

For a moment, Clint stood and watched them, and felt a flicker of joy. This was one thing he'd done right.

And then he reminded himself, no. He hadn't done this. Laura had done this. All that was good in this house was due to Laura.

He cleared his throat and came over to the table.

Cooper beamed up at him. "Hey! Mom said not to wake you."

Clint ruffled Cooper's hair then bent down to give them both hugs.

"Are you sick Daddy?" ask Lila. "Mommy always lets us sleep late when we're sick."

"No. I'm not sick." He took a chair at the table. "But I do need to talk to you two about something serious for a moment, okay?"

"Are we in trouble?" asked Cooper frowning, mentally running through any recent pranks or adventures that might have been outside the spirit or letter of the law.

"No, you're not in trouble Coop."

"Sweetheart," it was Laura, "are you sure you want to do this now?"

"Yeah," he flashed her weak smile, "I need to do this now."

"Okay."

"What's wrong Daddy?" asked Lila, her face already concerned and worried. She had heart, so much of it. Clint clinched his fist under the table. He had to be strong. He had to get through this.

"Well I need to explain something to you. You're might have questions, you might not understand. And I will do my best. But…I'm not an Avenger anymore."

"Why not?" asked Cooper, staring at him, wide-eyed, shocked.

"I…did something bad. I worked for some people, for a very long time, who were bad. I told a lot of lies, and those lies were found out. I made a mistake, and I regret it. More than I can…" He stopped, stared down at his hand that was resting on the table and took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry that I let you both down."

He glanced up at them. Lila was looking confused and upset. He sensed that she was picking up at his own mental state and that was making her more upset than actually understanding what he was saying. But Cooper was getting a bit more. Clint saw the shock on his face, the confusion, the hurt.

"So…what happened with the Avengers?" asked Cooper.

Clint resisted the urge to wince. He met his son's gaze. He owed Cooper that. "I told lies to them too. They couldn't trust me anymore. They let me come home."

"Oh." Cooper's fingers started tearing at the coloring page in front of him.

"Cooper…I'm really sorry. I made bad choices. Bad choices that I really regret. I know I let you down bud. And I regret that more than anything. Because you, Lila, your mom, you're the most important things in the world to me. More important than the Avengers, more important than everything. And I'm so, so sorry."

Cooper's fingers stilled. He glanced up at his father, than towards his mom, and then back at Clint again. He shrugged. "I know." He smiled at his dad. It was a weak smile. It was forced, but it was forced because he wanted to make his dad feel better, because he _loved_ his dad, and Clint could feel that love right now, for a brief moment, more than anything else. "Their loss anyways."

Clint chuckled. He didn't have much heart for it. But he felt touched. He realized Lila had slipped over beside him and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the check.

All he could think was: _I don't deserve this._


	4. Chapter 4: Make It Right

Laura came down the staircase, having tucked Cooper and Lila in for the night. She glanced at the clock, listened to the empty house around her and sighed.

Slipping on a pair of sandals, she went out the backdoor, crossed the yard in the gloom, and entered the barn.

Clint was exactly where she'd expected to find him: where he'd spent the past two evenings. He was sitting up on the haystacks, a bottle of whiskey at his side, a half empty glass in his hand, staring out, she hoped looking at nothing, she suspected he was looking at his past.

He heard her footsteps. It was dark in the barn. There was only one light on and it was some distance from where he sat, but she could make out a wry, twisted smile as he saw her.

"I thought I'd find you in here," she said, trying to keep her voice light. She crossed over to the haystacks.

He hesitated a moment and then, setting down the glass leaned over to give her a hand and help her up.

Once she was beside him, he picked the glass up again. She settled in beside him, her shoulder nestled against his.

"The kids are in bed you know," she said, watching him take a drink, "you could come drink inside."

"They might come down for something…I…" _–don't want them to see me like this,_ she finished in her head for him. He sat in silence for a moment. "I guess I haven't been a very good father lately."

"The kids understand that you are having a hard time. They don't understand exactly why, but they know you're in pain. And they just want you to be okay."

He rubbed his hand across his face then nodded at the glass in his hand. "This is becoming a problem isn't it?"

She hesitated. "Not yet. But it could become one."

He nodded. "I know."

She held out a hand. He handed over the glass. She took a sip. She handed it back.

"Why are you out here drinking alone?" she asked.

He let out a snort. "You really need me to answer that?"

"Yes, I think I do."

She studied his face, watching him as his jaw worked, as he grappled with himself. "I guess because it makes me hate being in my own head marginally less. Until the next morning, when I hate it marginally more. I know I'm failing Laura. I know I've been given a chance to be here for you and the kids, and I'm throwing it away. But-." He snapped his jaw shut.

"But what?" He shook his head, but she persisted. "But what Clint? Please. I have a right to know what's going on up there," she said, tapping his forehead gently.

"I just hate myself more, the more time I spend with all of you," he said flatly.

"I see."

"The kids, they're too young to really understand what I did. But you? I don't see how you can forgive me."

"You want me not to forgive you? You want me to punish you so that you don't have to punish yourself?" she said slowly.

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Clint, you know it doesn't work that way." She sighed and shifted around, so that she was facing him. "Look, if you need to hear this here it is: yes, I was upset. I was hurt. I was hurt that you kept this from me all these years. I was more hurt by you then I ever thought I could be. But you are already hurting so much, I didn't want to lay that on you too. And I still don't. I love you and maybe I'm a bit bruised but bruises heal. Look, do you remember when there was that family living next farm over? The one with that kid?"

"Monster Kid?"

She chuckled. "Yes. Monster Kid. Remember when he pushed Lila down, and so Cooper just went at him, fists flying, protecting his sister? You told him how proud you were of him, right?"

"Yes."

"You told him he was a hero."

"I remember."

"And you remember that other time, when Cooper took the keys to the tractor cause he wanted to drive it and show off to his friends, even after we've told him a thousand times, to stay away from the farm machines when we're not around."

Clint nodded. "Yeah."

"You were really angry. You told him how he could have hurt himself badly, or one of his friends. He was grounded for a week. Later you found him crying in his room, and he asked you if you still loved him, and what did you say?"

"I said of course I still loved him…I said there was nothing he could do that could make me ever stop loving him."

She smiled. "Exactly. It's true for Cooper. And it's true for me and you."

"Laura: Cooper didn't kill anyone. He didn't betray everyone who's important in his life."

"Would you stop loving him if he did?"

"_No."_

"Well then, like father like son."

"I wish I deserved you."

She smiled and said playfully, "You know what Nat would say: you never did. Even as an Avenger."

He chuckled. "Yeah, Nat did say that. A lot."

"Usually after eating some of my popovers though. So you could argue she was under the influence."

There was a pause. "I really miss Nat."

"I know. The kids do too."

"Yeah…Lila asked me yesterday if Aunt Nat would be visiting soon. I had to tell her, I didn't think she'd be around for a while. Cause I couldn't bear breaking the news that she'd probably never be around again."

"Good. Because it would have been a lie. Nat _will_ come by again. I know it."

Clint shook his head. "I don't think so. I hurt Laura, I hurt her really badly."

"But she knows you. Just like I do. Everyone makes mistakes. But you always make them right. You're a good man Clint Barton. I just hope you can believe it again."

* * *

Bruce pulled of his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was bloody tired. But it wasn't the recent workload he'd been taking on down in the lab or the late nights he'd been spending reading late into the night, that was exhausting him.

It was the tension.

The whole tower was tense. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells. Or not bothering to walk around at all.

He hadn't seen Steve around for the past week. Nat was in the gym or the gun range if she was around. Thor was practically moved in with Jane at this point. Bruce saw the most of Tony since they shared a lab, but that was its only special kind of exhausting. Tony was manic if anything. Eager to dive into anything, anything of course except the topic that might have done any good to discuss.

The only person in the tower who wasn't exhausting to bump into was Pepper. Because she would at least bloody talk about it rather than sweep it under the rug.

At the end of the day that was the problem.

No one would talk about it. But they were all grieving. At the end of the day each and every one of them was fractured. They came from fractured homes, fractured countries, fractured pasts, fractured lives. The Avengers had been a family. It was, Bruce admitted, clichéd. But it was a fact. The Avengers were important to them all. And they'd lost one of their own. Not in some heroic sacrifice, a battle of life and death, but to an act of betrayal. Bruce wondered if he was the only one who thought that was the better alternative all things considered.

That first night after Clint had left, Bruce had sat in his room, resisting with every ounce of will power he possessed the temptation to Hulk out, and he had thought about it.

He had imagined what it would have like if Clint had died instead. If that was how they'd lost him. What if they'd had to bury him? What if there hadn't been enough left _to _bury?

And suddenly he realized he was glad Clint wasn't dead. Sure, the lies still hurt, but he was glad it wasn't worse. Now if only the others would realize that. They might need time to process, but it didn't have to be the end?

* * *

Laura picked up the laundry basket and headed upstairs. She was passing the door of her and Clint's bedroom when movement inside made her stop. She did a double take, slowly set the laundry basket down and moved towards the door, leaning against the door-frame.

Clint was standing over their bed. He was dressed in one of his Hawkeye uniforms. There was a duffel bag packed, and the case for this bow opened in front of him. The bow was in his hand and he was holding it up, aiming down the sights.

A strange mixture of emotions washed over Laura: a sense of loss, but also pride; an overwhelming, heart bursting sense of pride and love.

"Well me and my big mouth," she murmured, "I finally have you here full time and I have to go and remind you who you are."

He started and turned. Lowering his bow he looked at her with picture of pleading and determination.

"I have to," he said, "I have to make it right."

She smiled and entered the room, moving towards him, "I know. Believe me, I know the man I married." She kissed him and then, wrapping her arms around him, leaned into him. "But promise me, you won't get yourself killed. You'll be on your own out there. Don't do anything stupid."

He laughed. "I promise." He set the bow down on the bed and wrapped his arms around her.

And it felt good. For the first time since he'd come home, she could feel the tension had left his body. He was her Clint again. And if that meant he had to go away once more, that was a price she was willing to pay.


	5. Chapter 5: Dead in the Water

The warehouse was quiet. The men and women inside working, heads down. Everything had been tense since the fall of Shield. About two thirds of the workforce had already disappeared, gone on the run, or been shot in the attempt. Hydra didn't hold with deserters, even when everything was falling apart.

Those who remained where the determined, loyal, willing to sacrifice it all if that's what it took. Plans were being formulated, contacts trying to be reached, frantic desperation spurring them all on.

Relocation had to be a top priority, but where to? Every safe house, every base, everything was compromised. Everything was a gamble, a matter of time. All the files and information was out there: how long till they were discovered?

The answer was: not long enough.

No one heard the sound of movement above them in the metal rafters. No one heard the bow string as it was pulled back. Nor the sound of the first two bodies as they fit the floor.

But they heard the explosion after that.

By the time someone had reached for a weapon and gun fire filled the room, half of them were already dead.

* * *

An Avengers meeting had been called for six thirty in the common room, with some vague implication that it was a briefing for an upcoming mission. It hadn't really had Steve's style in it, nor Fury's. So Tony made his way to it with a healthy amount of skepticism and was not disappointed.

As he stepped into the common room, he saw that he was the last to arrive. He also saw that Pepper was there. His suspicions grew.

"What's up?"

"That's just what we were asking," said Nat.

Steve nodded. "Bruce? Now that we're all here, care to explain?"

Bruce shifted, uncomfortable under all the scrutiny. Pepper squared her shoulders and took over for him.

"We've made dinner."

"That requires an Avengers wide meeting?" asked Tony, raising an eyebrow.

"We are all going to sit down and eat together. The way you are all avoiding each other is ridiculous."

Thor frowned. "So there is no emergency?"

"Yes, there's an emergency. It's called 'avoiding the issue'."

"We're breaking apart," said Bruce. "We're this close to not being a team anymore."

"So you lied to us to try and fix the fact that we're breaking apart because someone lied to us?" said Tony. Pepper frowned. She recognized that tone. It was always so conversational, so pleasant, and always a danger sign.

Bruce sighed. "We didn't lie. We asked for an Avengers meeting because we need to talk about it. And doing it over food seemed like it might help…ease the tension a bit."

"I think I'll just get take out in the lab, thanks."

"Tony, _please_."

Tony had been in the act of turning back to the elevator, but at this he froze and slowly, dangerously Pepper recognized, turned back.

"You want us to 'talk about it'? Fine." The tone was sharp; he wasn't shouting, he was steely. "Here it is. I keep wondering what the hell is wrong with my judgment that this keeps happening? A man who was like a father to me, who was the only family I had after I lost my parents, literally sold me to terrorists and then _ripped _my reactor out and left me to die. And I never saw it coming. Not for one second."

Tony moved over to the bar and poured himself a drink. "And now a man I trusted to have my back, a man who was part of a team that to me meant-." He stopped, forced himself to breath, and took a swig of his drink. "He was lying the whole time. He worked for a group that had a kill list with me right near the top. And once again I never saw it coming.

"So you want to talk about it Bruce? You want to braid each other's hair, pour some chardonnay and share our feelings? My feeling is: I don't know, _how to know_, if I can trust any one of you, anymore. How do I know you're not keeping more secrets? Because I sure as hell can't trust my judgment, so how the hell can I trust all of you. So yeah, you think the team's in danger? I say were a long way past that." There was a long, still silence. He gave a brittle, humorless, smile. "So how was that? Was that enough talking about our feelings for you?"

"Only if that's all you need to say," said Bruce levelly, the only one in the room, other than Nat, who showed no outward reaction to Tony's speech.

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, I'm done. So if that's it I'm heading back to my lab where I actually have things to do that are _productive_." Tony began to walk to the lift.

"I have something to say." It burst out of Steve as if he'd been trying to fight it back and lost. Bruce glanced towards him and frowned. He'd never seen him look guilty before. The look didn't suit him and it filled Bruce with foreboding.

"What?" asked Tony, turning. "Want to do a whole big speech to try and fix this? Because there's no fixing this Cap. It is what it is. And what it is dead in the water."

Steve shook his head. "I don't want to make a speech…I want to make a confession."

If it was possible for the silence to become anymore stunned it did so now.

"If you're about to say 'hail hydra', I swear Cap…"

"No. It's…" Steve ran a hand through his hair. Bruce noticed him shoot a glance towards Nat who was looking suddenly on edge. "Look there's something I haven't told you. I thought not telling you was…I don't know. I told myself I was protecting you but I know I don't have that right and maybe I was just protecting myself because…look, there's no easy way to say this. When Nat I were on the run, looking into Hydra, when we found out how deep their reach went and how far back, we found out something else. Along with the murders they've done, they assassinations they've committed…your parents' names came up."

Out of the corner of his eye Bruce saw Pepper burry her face in one hand. He saw Tony go extremely still. He hadn't thought the atmosphere in the room could get any worse. He'd been very wrong.

"Excuse me?" The tone in Tony's voice was dangerous, sharp.

"I know I should have told you about it as soon as I learned. I just-…I let myself get caught up in things. In Clint, in…the Winter Soldier."

"The Winter Soldier?"

"Yes. I don't know…how much you about that yet." Bruce saw Steve was gearing up for more. How there could be more, he didn't know. But when the worse wasn't 'you're parents were murdered' you knew you were in trouble. "The Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes. He was my best friend. He was my family when I didn't have family. I thought he'd been dead all of these years but Hydra took him. Took him and wiped his memories and took over his head and made them their personal assassin, at least whenever they weren't freezing him on ice. That's what Sam and I have been doing. That's why I've been gone so much. I'm looking for Bucky. I'm looking for my friend. And…there's a chance…there's a real chance they might have used him to kill your parents."

There was a shatter as the glass fell from Tony's hand.

Tony stared at if for a moment and then turned. "No. No. I'm done here." He punched the elevator button.

"Tony-"

"No." He stepped in as the doors slid open and turned around. "Just no." The doors closed and he was gone.

Pepper let out a long sigh. "Well that went well."

"Are you sure you should have told him?" asked Nat, glancing towards Steve.

"I don't know. All I know is…I realized if I didn't tell him now and he found out later, we never could have survived that."

"I'm not sure we're going to survive it as it stands."

"Neither am I, but it was our best shot. Beside…it was the right thing to do." And with that Steve crossed over to the shattered glass, and began picking up the pieces.

* * *

Clint had left the warehouse far behind. It was full of bodies and destroyed equipment, none of which would probably be found for several days. He'd recognize at least two of the Hydra agents he'd killed. He's gut at twisted at that. But it was what it was. They had to stopped. They all had to be taken down. Hydra couldn't be allowed to rebuild and return. It had to be killed once for all. It had to be.

He pulled the car in the garage of the safe house, and went in through the back door, setting his bow and quiver down.

Blood was splattered across the quiver. He stared at it and forced his breath to remain even.

It didn't make sense. He'd killed plenty of people in his life: for Hydra, for Shield, for the Avengers.

He remembered the first mission. His hands had been steady as he'd pulled back the bow and watched as the arrow went flying straight into the man's eye. He'd been focused and steady as he and his team made their escape. But then he'd vomited out back in the alley once they were clear.

The team leader, an older man, who had a kind smile and eyes full of humor, had pattered him on the back, and assured him everyone did that on their first kill. That it had been a good kill. That it was the only choice. That doctor was engineering a bioweapon, on the verge of releasing it on the market. That they'd saved thousands of lives, that it'd been their only choice. That they, that Clint, were paying the price so that innocent people wouldn't have to.

And Clint had believed it.

Years later, Clint would watch that kindly, fatherly team leader, torture, maim, and kill the innocent. Men, women, and children. That kindly smile and twinkling eyes would take on a much more sinister edge, when the face was splattered with his victim's blood.

And years later, when Clint had more resources at his command, he'd looked into that doctor. That doctor had been developing an antidote for a bioweapon designed by Hydra. That doctor had a wife and children. He'd been a good man who had just wanted to make the world a better place. Clint had paid the price so that more people could die at Hydra's whim. That was what he had taken his first life for. That was the noble bloody mission he'd paid such a high price for.

That doctor wasn't the only one who'd met an end they didn't deserve at Clint's hands. Even as he'd slowly realized what he was doing…

He might have been able to excuse the past if he'd stopped then. But he hadn't, had he? In the present, Clint stopped washing the blood from his hands, and stared at the bathroom mirror.

Once the illusion had fallen, once he knew what Hydra was, he'd still carried on the assignments. In a way, those murders hung on his conscience more. At the time it had been hell. If he could have chosen death he would have. But he'd known by then it wasn't his death that he'd be choosing. At least not only his death.

Memories, so many memories, twisted in the back of his head, but one in particular floated to the surface.

_"You didn't kill Romanoff. Fury gave you an order."_

_ Clint shrugged. "He doesn't seem too unhappy with the results."_

_Pierce frowned. "Romanoff is an extremely effective agent. You chose to recruit her for Shield. You could have recruited her for Hydra."_

_Clint was prepared for this. He couldn't tell the truth. He couldn't explain that he'd looked at Natasha and seen something in her, a yearning for something more, for something good. He yearning he recognized in himself. He'd thought this through and come up with a story, and yet he could still feel sweat forming on his palms. He clasped his hands behind his back and set his feet apart. It gave the image of strength, of reporting, but it was merely a defense to hide behind. "Romanoff knew me as representing Shield. She needed something straight forward to believe in."_

_"She could be a powerful recruit for Hydra."_

_"She wouldn't do it. I gave her Shield. It's still a tentative belief system she's operating on. If I try to bring her to Hydra, that would come crashing down. I'd lose any trust I've built with her. And we'd lose her altogether. This way, we can still use her through Shield operations."_

_"Hmm." Pierce studied him. Clint wished, not for the first time, that he knew what was going on in that man's head. "And if I ordered you to kill her?"_

_Clint hoped Pierce didn't detect the flicker of doubt in his expression before he forced himself back in control. "Is that your order?"_

_"No. Not yet. There's time. Perhaps Romanoff can't be brought over just yet. But in time…how's Laura?"_

_Clint blinked. "Laura?"_

_"Yes. It's funny. She's disappeared you know. I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that we like to keep tabs on the family of our agents, the significant others and close friends. But she, it seems, has left your apartment."_

_"…we broke up."_

_Pierce looked at him. It was a look that spoke volumes. He moved close, his face inches away from Clint's. "Do not lie to me Barton. You will regret it." For one moment, Clint struggled to think of anything to say and then Pierce was stepping back and smiling. The smile was almost worse. "She hasn't just moved out of your apartment. We've lost all trace of her. Now normally, I would have assumed in such a circumstance that things got ugly one night and an agent decided to clean up the mess himself. But you're not that type Clint. No. She's somewhere, and I'm sure you know exactly where. I'm not too curious where, at the moment. But don't for one second doubt I could find her, if I needed to. But I don't need to…do I Barton?"_

_"…no sir."_

_"Good. Keep an eye on Romanoff. I certainly hope she won't become an…inconvenience for us."_

_"No sir."_

Clint took a deep steadying breath, trying to wrench himself from the past. He should still feel the dread that had crept through him, the certain knowledge that whatever he did, Pierce would be sure to kill Laura first before he finally put Clint out of his misery. It was how Pierce worked.

It had been selfish to even be with Laura. He should have ended it. He should never have started it. He'd been weak. He supposed that deep down, he'd always been weak. That's why he was here, where he was now.

But no more. He was going to make himself be strong. He was going to rip out whatever remained of Hydra. He would do it for Laura, for the people he'd betrayed, for the people he'd killed, and he would it for himself.


	6. Chapter 6: Defy

Clint waited, listening to the dial tone.

"Clint?"

As he heard Laura's voice, the tension melted from him. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Hey sweetheart."

"Hello." He could hear the smile in her voice…and also the concern. "How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"Really? Because you sound stressed."

"Do I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well no wonder I'm stressed: I married a woman who is way too smart to fool. How are the kids?"

"You also married a woman who is way too smart to distract. The kids are fine. Now tell me, truthfully, how you're doing?"

There was a beat. "I think my head has finally started calling in some debts I've been putting off paying."

"…do you need to come home?"

"No. I think that'd be worse. I can't run from this. I've been compartmentalizing and compromising for too long. I need to face the music and try and come out from under this or else…or else," he said, with a sigh, "I don't think I'm ever going to really be able to live with myself. Besides, there's a job needs doing and a mess to clean up. And that's one thing I can get done."

* * *

Tony took the screwdriver from Dummy and bent over the mass of wires before him on the table. He heard the door slide open and knew it had to be Pepper. He knew it because she was the only he'd told Jarvis to let in. Not because he particularly wanted to see anybody, but after everything they'd been through, he couldn't imagine forbidden her access anywhere she wanted to go.

She came up beside him, her shadow falling across his work. "Hey."

He set down the screwdriver and swirled towards her. She was looking somber. "Hey yourself. Come to announce another top secret Avenger meeting? Cause so not falling for that one again. You know the old saying, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice-"

"No. I'm not here-. Tony, I'm sorry."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. Really. I shouldn't have pushed you. I didn't think it through. I mean I knew this was hard for you but I never should have assumed-. Oh Tony, I really, really am sorry. And if you want every last one of them thrown out of the tower, me included, you only have to say the word and I'll handle it."

He laughed. "Aw Pepper, no. How could I ever throw you out, huh?" He took her in his arms. "Who'd take all my calls for me?"

She laughed and punched him light in the arm. She knew he was deflecting. Knew he was playing it off light and breezy because he didn't want to talk about it. But she let him get away with it this time, and kissed him.

* * *

There was a knock on the door and Steve looked up. Natasha stood in the doorway. He nodded to her and went back to his packing.

"What are you doing?" she asked, coming further into the room.

"I'm packing."

"Yeah I can see that."

"You asked."

"I guess," she said, taking a seat on the bed, "my real question is why are you doing it?"

"I'm heading back to my apartment."

"You mean the one that was majorly compromised by Hydra?"

"That'll be the one."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Yes." He stuffed a stack of shirts into his duffle bag and zipped it.

"I didn't think Captain America ran away from fights.'

"Tony isn't going to want me around right now. Maybe at some point we can work through this but right now? No. The Avenger's best shot at surviving this is if I step back. I can't choose the Avengers over Bucky. I can't choose Tony over Bucky. Bucky _needs _me."

"Maybe Tony needs you too."

"I doubt it."

Natasha smiled a little ruefully. "Tony's not quite as hardy as he makes out. If you couldn't hear the pain in his voice-"

"Of course I could. But I _have_ to choose Bucky. Tony has other people. There's no one else on Bucky's team right now. What's more, Bucky was always there for me. I can't let him down. And I can't expect Tony to accept that at the moment. So I'm leaving. It's the right call Nat. Tony needs time and space. And that's what I'm going to give him."

He zipped the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Nat shrugged and stood up. "I think you're making a mistake but…be well. Call me if you need me."

"Right back at you."

* * *

Clint woke up with a jerk, his heart racing, the fear of the nightmare still rushing through his blood. He'd been back there, under Loki's control, only with the horrifying additional awareness lent by dreams.

Taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He got out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. As he stood in front of the sink, the tap running, he closed his eyes and tried to shove the nightmare away from him.

It was over. It was done.

Besides, wasn't he a hypocrite? What had Loki had him do that was any worse than what he'd chosen to do voluntarily for Hydra? He'd killed innocent people both ways. He'd put the safety of earth in peril both ways. Loki, Hydra. It was all one and the same. He'd hated Loki for what he had done to him, but mostly he just loathed himself. There was plenty of hate to go around after all.

Taking another deep breath, he reopened his eyes and stared at himself in the mirror.

He didn't like what he saw. But he wouldn't look away.

_Natasha was staring down at her hands. "You don't know what you're offering me," she said, shaking her head. "You don't know me at all."_

_"Yes I do. I know what kind of person you are, and that's all I need to know," he had said, taking a seat in front of her._

_A small, fragment of a shattered smile had played across her lips for one brief instant and then was gone again. Again that shake of the head. "You have no idea, the things that I've done."_

_"Yes I do." He knew firsthand what it was like to have your past drenched in blood and guilt. But he couldn't say that. He couldn't tell her the truth about himself. He couldn't shatter her trust, what's more he didn't want to. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect this woman, an urge most people who knew her history and her abilities would have found ludicrous. Surely, the Black Widow was the last person in the world that needed to be protected. "I know enough of your past. But right now, the past is only important for how you can use it to do better from here on out. To be better. You can let your past dictate your future actions, continue to wallow in it, or you can defy it."_

_She glanced up at him, tilting her head to one side. "It's not that easy."_

_"I'll help you. I promise. If that's the choice you make."_

And she'd made it. And he helped her. Right up until he'd destroyed that trust in the Avengers common room. He was only thankful she had a team around her now that would be there to move past that.

He wished now that Nat could somehow be here to help him. Like she'd been after Loki. Like have been if he'd been honest with her, and come to her with the truth before Hydra fell. But even absent, she would help him. She'd been strong and forceful and had never looked back. She had defied her past, and he would follow her example as best he could.


	7. Chapter 7: A Mission

Bruce poured himself a cup of a coffee and leaned against the kitchen island, making notes on the equations he had spread across several sheets of paper. The common room was empty. It'd been that way for the past few weeks. Steve had moved out, so Sam wasn't coming round anymore. Thor technically still had clothes at the tower but mostly Bruce thought he was staying somewhere with Jane. Bruce might be wrong but he suspected Thor just couldn't deal with the Avengers' issues after the recent loss of both mother and brother. Bruce supposed he couldn't really blame him. That was a lot for anyone. Nat was another one who was _technically_ still living in the tower. And he did see her occasionally. But she'd thrown herself very determinedly into work. Ninety percent of the time she was off on a mission for Fury.

The tower was, all things considered, a far cry from how it had been not that long ago. Even when Steve was at his apartment he'd come by every now and then. They all would. The tower had felt like a place of safety, of home.

Right now, it just felt empty.

Tony of course was still here. But Bruce hadn't seen him since the ill-fated intervention. Bruce assumed he came out of his lab, between Jarvis and Pepper he was sure someone was making certain he got regular meals and sleep and actually saw the great outdoors once in a while, but Bruce hadn't actually seen it with his own eyes.

He sighed. And for the dozenth time, wondered if he shouldn't be moving on like the rest of them. And yet…he was very reluctant to do so. Tony might not trust him, and yet Tony _had _trusted him. When they'd first fought Loki, Tony had put a level of faith in him that had staggered Bruce, and everyone else for that matter. Tony had taught Bruce how to live life not constantly on the run, not constantly on the edge of something darker and grimmer. It felt good. Bruce missed how comfortable the tower used to feel, he missed spending time in the lab with Tony, he missed….he missed the Avengers.

If Tony hadn't been nearly nonstop on his thoughts for the past month, he'd have been surprised at the timing of the elevator doors opening and Tony stepping into the common room. As it was, his surprise was purely at the man's presence.

"Hey."

Tony smiled. "Hey yourself. Long time no see." He crossed to the fridge and grabbed a seltzer water. "What are you working on?" he asked, nodding at the papers.

"Uh, just trying to crack that corrosion issue we ran into. Running various different materials, but most of them come out too heavy or too unstable."

Tony stepped forward and glanced over it. He tapped one page. "That could work."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. It's the best bet I could come up with."

"Well why don't you come down and we try it out? You haven't been to the lab in ages. I was thinking you'd forgotten the way. That or had, you know, discovered the Jacuzzi."

"Actually," said Bruce, plunging into honesty, "wasn't sure I'd be welcomed."

Tony shrugged. "Course you are. I said you had lab space, I'm not going to take it away. Besides, Dummy misses you."

Bruce chuckled.

Tony crossed his arms, his shoulders set, and his expression firm. "Look Bruce, what I said that night…it still stands. But the people I can't trust anymore: you're not one of them."

Bruce blinked in surprise. "I-, Tony I-"

Tony waved him to stop. "Bruce, I am so way past my yearly allowance for heartfelt conversations. So can we just grab your papers and skip to the makeup science?"

With a chuckle Bruce stood, picked up his coffee and work, and nodded. "Let's go."

It wasn't the Avengers back. But it was the next best thing.

* * *

Clint parked in front of the farmhouse. It was easier coming back this time than the last. But his gut still twisted a little. He still didn't feel right in the head. His throats still rolled around, scraping and snapping at him.

He wasn't done. Not by a long shot. But he had always had rules about how often he'd come home, and he was going to stick to them now too. Especially now when he owed Laura so damn more than he could ever give her.

Since leaving, he'd taken down twenty-five Hydra outposts, and killed or captured fifteen high-ranking Hydra officers who had been on the run. He'd hoped it would bring some peace, but it had only served to make his thoughts more muddled.

_"Are you okay?" Natasha had looked at him, across the table in concern. He'd known she'd been studying him for the past five minutes as he ate his breakfast. He'd known the question was coming._

_"I'm fine."_

_"It's okay to not be fine. Clint, you know that I know what it feels like to have your mind messed with, your own brain turned against you. And Loki used magic. Like I said before, that's something we weren't ever, could never, be trained for. And that includes psychologically."_

_Clint had stared down into his coffee. "It doesn't help to talk about it. Those men are dead. I did it. And I have to go to Jameson's funeral today and look his widow in the eye and give her my condolences."_

_"I know." He could hear the 'and?', even if she didn't say it._

_He glanced up at her. She was waiting, patiently, willing to hear anything he had to say, willing and happy to be there for him, just like he'd been there for her. "I keep thinking I have this sorted and then it's like another flash of memory, another awful thing I did, surfaces in my brain, and I have to go through the whole mental process again or processing, accepting, moving on…"_

_She nodded. "Yes. But you'll get through it all. Eventually you will. You just have to keep treading water for as long as you can."_

_"And hope I don't drown?"_

_"You won't," she smiled. "I'll make sure of that."_

_The elevator doors slid open at that point and Tony and Steve had entered, chatting, Tony ribbing Steve. Nat and Clint had immediately slipped into a casual conversation._

Drowning, that's what he felt like he was doing now…he closed his eyes and struggled to push that feeling back. Wishing Nat was here, missing her like the devil.

Getting out of the car, he slammed the door shut and started up the stairs to the house. The front door swung open and Laura stood in the doorway, an amused gleam in her eye. She kissed him before she said anything and hugged him. He took a deep breath, taking her in, taking in the feel of her in his arms. Suddenly insanely grateful for this woman, who he didn't deserve, who stood by him through so much.

"How are the kids?" he murmured.

"They're great." She pulled a little away, just enough to look him in the face. She was searching, reading the lines there, studying the strain and tension. What she saw didn't please her. That much was obvious, but she shook her head, and the amused gleam returned. "Well he was right."

"Who was?"

"Fury. He's waiting out in the barn for you."

"What?" Clint stared at her, danger sirens blaring in his head.

"Yes, he said you'd be back home right on schedule and he was right. He arrived about two hours ago. I said he could wait in the living room but he said he had work to do."

"What does he want?"

Laura raised an eyebrow. "He didn't say, but I doubt if he was here to arrest you, he'd have given me a chance to warn you. Frankly I think that's the only reason he came to the front door at all. To reassure. And he was very polite."

Clint felt skeptical. "Well, I'd better see what he wants."

The walk to the barn had never felt this long before. Clint wished he could have taken his bow, but meeting Nick Fury armed was probably not the best idea, and he did think Laura was right. If Fury wanted to kill him, he wouldn't have come knocking on the front door. Fair play wasn't big with him. And more importantly, he wouldn't do it at the farm. Natasha had said Clint would be safe at the farm and nowhere else, and Clint didn't doubt that Fury agreed with that sentiment. The farm was sacred in a way. It had to be. Fury had given him this corner to be secure and safe, and Fury wouldn't take it back.

Entering the barn, Clint almost had to laugh as he spotted Fury, sitting so casually at a small side table, pouring over some paperwork. Anyone watching the scene wouldn't have imagined the betrayal that lay between the two men.

Fury glanced up. "I see Laura let you know I was here."

"Yeah, she mentioned it." Clint came deeper into the barn and leaning against one of the beams, crossed his arms and studied Fury. "What do you want?"

Fury shut the folder he'd been working on and stood up. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a photograph and dropped it onto the table, facing Clint.

Loki's scepter. There was a shifting of unease in his gut that Clint tried to ignore.

"The scepter? What about it?"

"We've been looking for it."

Clint frowned. "You lost it?"

"If you'll recall, after the Battle of New York, the Avengers handed it over to STRIKE team," said Fury, sternly.

"Ah." A wave of shame washed over him that he refused to show. "Well I have no idea where it wound up. Sorry I can't be more help."

"Actually I was hoping you could be more help."

"I'm telling you the truth. I don't blame you if you don't believe it. But I truly have no idea where the scepter ended up. Pierce didn't trust me after New York. You can't make me tell you what I don't know."

Fury's eyebrow rose at the last sentence but otherwise ignored it. "I didn't think you did know where it was. But I thought you might be able to find it. You must have contacts, that is if you haven't killed them all already." Clint started in surprise but Fury only rolled his eye. "Bow and arrow was a giveaway, particularly when used to clean up Hydra agents."

"You haven't stopped me." It was a half question.

"Of course not. You're saving me a lot of time and bother. Plus, it's good to know I wasn't wrong: I always thought I was a good judge of character. And now I know I wasn't wrong about you."

Clint's hands dropped to his side. _That's a point up for debate_, he thought, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He couldn't expose to Fury the raw wounds that had lacerated his brain. He didn't know what Fury would say if he did, and he wasn't sure which response would be worse: confirmation or absolution.

Fury watched him for a little, and Clint wondered what he saw. Then Fury tapped on the photograph. "So will you do it?"

"Find out where the scepter is?"

"And retrieve it, if possible."

Clint was surprised. He hadn't imagined that. "Isn't that something the Avengers should do?"

"The Avengers aren't exactly battle fit at the moment."

"What's that mean?" asked Clint, concerned. "Are they okay?"

"Physically? Yes. Emotionally?" Fury shook his head. "Let's just say you did a number on them. I believe the only two currently living in the tower are Stark and Banner. Roger's moved back to Washington. Romanoff keeps making me give her missions. If I refused I'm pretty sure she'd go rogue. Thor's in Scandinavia with Dr. Foster." He must have noticed something in the expression on Clint's face because he said, his tone almost reassuring, "They'll work it out. And it's not all about you. James Barnes is an issue between Rogers and Stark. And was always going to be. And if it hadn't been that it would be something else. Those two are very different men. Their goals might be the same but their methods aren't. I always knew there'd be friction sooner or later. The team can figure this out…or it can't. But I don't doubt that if the earth is ever in real peril again, they will pull together to save it. But in the meantime I don't think they're ready to work together to retrieve the scepter."

"And you'd really trust me to do it?"

"Like I said: I always thought I was a good judge of character. I thought I was wrong…I don't think that now."


	8. Chapter 8: Brock

Brock Rumlow pulled a beer out of the motel mini fridge. It was a cramped room, the fridge over near the bathroom sink. As he stood up, he caught his reflection in the mirror and flinched. He felt his fist curl and a familiar wave of anger sweep over him. The skin, melted and mottled, declaring to everyone who cared to look that he was different, twisted. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the darkness crash down upon him, tempted to give way to it, tempted to let it take him-

There was a knock on the door.

He whirled around, beer bottle raised.

But all the people who would come for him…none would knock, surely?

Slowly, he advanced. He peeked through the peep hole. Clint Barton. Well, that didn't tell him much one way or the other. Except for the fact that if Barton wanted to kill him, he probably wouldn't knock on the door…unless of course he thought it was some kind of sign of respect for their past friendship.

Either way. Barton must know he was in here. He might as well answer.

Brock opened the door. "Well, well, if it isn't the fallen Hawk."

"Funny," answered Clint dryly.

"I try."

"Try what? Standup now that the modeling career is over?"

Brock snorted. "Funny yourself."

"Going to let me in, or keep me standing out here all day?"

Brock stepped aside. "Help yourself."

Clint entered the room and looked around. It was grungy and cheap and Brock hadn't done much to make it any nicer. There was a pile of dirty clothes on the extra bed, and a couple towels scattered on the floor.

"Want a drink?" asked Brock.

"Sure."

Brock handed Clint the beer he was holding and then went back to the fridge for a second one. He was careful this time to turn away from the mirror and not glance towards it.

Clint had pulled the chair out from the desk and was straddling the back of it, so Brock moved to the one, lumpy armchair tucked into the corner.

"So," asked Brock conversationally, "what are you here for? Have you come to kill me?"

Clint, who'd been halfway through a swig of his beer, chocked. "What?"

Brock shrugged. "It's not exactly a secret that straggling Hydra bases have been attacked. If you want to go incognito, you should be using a weapon a bit more common place than a bow and arrow. It's a bit of a giveaway."

"I don't usually knock on the front door when I want to kill someone."

"Then why are you here?"

Clint took another drink. "I'm here for information."

"On what?"

"Loki's scepter. Last I remember we handed it over to STRIKE team after the battle for New York. I'm trying to find it."

"And what are you going to do with it when you find it?"

"Put it back in the hands of people who can be trusted with it."

Brock laughed. "Ever the boy scout, eh? Rollins was right about you. The day you became an Avenger, you stopped being Hydra. If you ever were really Hydra to begin with."

"I was."

"Only because they got to you before Shield did. As long as I knew you, your heart was never really in it."

"I still did the job."

"Hydra's about a lot more than the job."

"What about you? Are you going to tell me that you believed in the job?"

Brock shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. The pay was a hell of a lot better than Shield." Clint rolled his eyes. "Hey, don't knock the pay Barton. We put our lives on the line we deserve to be rewarded for that. Now throw on top of that the fact that Hydra was trying to bring a little law and order to the world, it's not a bad proposition."

"Nothing about Hydra was about law and order. It was about control and power."

"Look around us Clint. This world is a messed up, twisted place. You're not going to get law and order without a bit of control and power."

"You really believe that?"

Brock shrugged again. "Who knows? Who cares? The world decided it ain't going that way and Hydra's done."

"Some of it survived."

"Yeah, and you're taking care of that bit. If it's all the same to you, I don't want to be taken care of. I think I've paid my price already," he gestured to his face, "not keen on paying more."

"Like I said, all I want is information."

"And if I say no?"

"We finish these beers and I go ask someone else. I started with you because I don't like interrogation. You, I just had to question, anyone else, probably I'm going to have to be more persuasive with. Plus you were in the best position to know where it ended up since you were the guy we gave it to."

Brock studied Clint thoughtfully. The two had been on a lot of missions together through the years. Everything else aside, Clint was probably the one person in Hydra he truly would have trusted if he needed help. He was certainly the only one there he'd actually viewed as a friend.

"All right. Look, I don't know where it is exactly. We delivered it to Strucker. I know he worked out of some off books, highly classified base in Sokovia. I did a job there once a long time ago. Not sure it's still being used or not, but it could be. Like I said, it was very off books. I don't think even Pierce knew much about it."

"Can you give me directions?"

"You're not going there! Clint going there would be insane. If it's still in operation it's going to be heavily guarded. I know you're good but come on."

"I need to do this Brock. I've got mistakes to make up for."

Brock swore. "You're really going to martyr yourself? For what? To make yourself good enough for your precious Avengers?"

"This isn't about them?"

"Isn't it? Isn't this about fitting in with your new friends? The ones who did this to me?" he snapped, gesturing to his face.

Clint for silent for a long moment and set his beer down on the table. "I'm sorry about that Brock. But they were fighting for their lives and they were fighting for the lives of a lot of other people. We've both done things far worse on behalf of Hydra."

Brock made of noise, anger, indignation, frustration: it wasn't clear which. "So easy to say that isn't it when you came out it without a scar, and I haven't heard anything about you being on the run? Where do you hang out when you're not killing your former colleagues? Wherever you've got Laura stored away? While me, look at my life. And it was your friends who did this."

"You know that's not fair. You know what Hydra was doing. The platforms, Project Insight. Brock what we did, was wrong. I get you are angry. But I am too. At myself. That's why I've got to do this. And that's why I really need your information."

"If you get yourself killed, don't expect me at your funeral."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Clint stood.

Brock let out a sigh. "Oh sit back down." He buried his face in his hands for a moment and then leaned back in the armchair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper at you. I've been on a short fuse for a while now. You're the first person I've had more than ten minute's conversation with since I've left the hospital. Blame it on the lack of recent practice."

"I know. It's not an easy time for any of us."

"I'll tell you how to find the base. But I still think you're insane to try it."


	9. Chapter 9: The Missing Intel

Clint lay in the snow, surveying the base below. Brock was right. It was going to be difficult. Up until now he'd met with little real resistance on these solo excursions against Hydra but this base was different. All the previous ones he'd encountered had been people on the run, people packing up or scrambling to pull together a defense.

This was different. This base was clearly very much still in operation. The only thing Hydra's fall had probably done was cause them to tighten security further. Being based in Sokovia probably didn't hurt when it came to making them feel confidant they'd continue to fly under the radar. Plus you'd probably have to dig deep and long to find any mention of this place in the files. Clint had never heard of it. Never a hint. And it would have been hard to find without Brock's help. All of which filled him with foreboding. If Hydra kept it off books, that was ominous.

It would be nice to have the team here.

_No. They're not the team_, he reminded himself, _at least_ _they're certainly not your team anymore._ _They might not even be the Avengers anymore and if that's the case, it's your fault._

He shook his head and forced himself to refocus. He couldn't afford to let his concentration slip. This mission was too dangerous and the stakes too high. He might be acting under Fury's orders, but there wasn't going to be any rescue mission or back up team if he failed. He was still a rogue agent.

He could do this. He'd already planned his ingress point. Once inside, he'd just have to adapt. Brock had told him what he knew about the base, but it was sketchy at best, took in only a portion of it, and was years old intel. It couldn't be relied on, and it was impossible to say where the scepter was being kept.

It wasn't going to be an easy mission. But as long as he played it smart, he could do it. He had to. Failure wasn't an option. Fury was counting on him. And he wasn't going to let Fury down. Not again. Not after everything Fury had done for him. Not after giving him this second chance.

It was getting dark, and it was already bitterly cold.

As the last light from the setting sun melded into night, Clint began his slow, stealthy move forward towards the base…

* * *

Steve sighed as he glanced over the papers, maps and reports, spread across his kitchen table. "Not a lot to go on here. Half of this is just rumor."

"No," Sam agreed. "I'm sorry. I'd hoped my contacts could pull up more."

"It's not your fault. And I'm grateful for everything you're doing."

"Of course man. Barnes is one of us. And we're going to find him."

Steve nodded, but it lacked conviction.

"I've got a few more contacts I can reach out to," said Sam, "I'll see what turns up. They're less likely but you never know. Also…I thought we could try talking to Rhodes."

Steve looked up in surprise. "I doubt Rhodes is going to be willing to help on this. He's Tony's best friend."

"And he's military. With current, active, military contacts. Barnes was essentially a prisoner of war, and now he's suffering from the after effects and mental repercussions of that. Rhodes is a good man. I may not have known him for long but my brief encounters with him at the tower, left me impressed. He's reasonable, logical, and he cares about the men in his command. I think he might be willing to help. Especially when we explain the situation."

Steve frowned over this. "I don't know. It feels like going behind Tony's back. I don't want to put a wedge between them, not with everything else Tony's dealing with."

"What about what you're dealing with?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, _Captain America,_ maybe you should take a moment for yourself. You're so busy looking for Barnes, I'm just worried that you haven't taken care of your own needs. You've had a lot of mental strain lately between Shield and Barton."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, which is why you've moved back to this apartment and I'm the only friend you're currently talking to."

"That's not true. I'm not cutting anyone out."

"No," Sam agreed, "I didn't mean you're ignoring people. I more mean that the issues with you and your friends is a strain maybe ignoring it isn't the best call. You need to go easy on yourself and maybe worry just a little less about everyone else and a little bit more about yourself."

"Sam. I really don't need a lecture. I am fine."

"Except you're not. Steve you always look out for everyone else but you don't look out for yourself."

"Because I'm fine."

"Steve there is no way you've been through what you have these past couple of years and are _fine_ with it."

"Maybe fine isn't the right word. But I can deal. What I need to do is find Bucky and help him."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive. You can have a life yourself and still help Barnes."

"I have a life"

"You have a life? Or you have a mission?"

"_I'm fine._" Steve stared him down.

With a sigh of resignation, Sam turned back to the papers. "Okay. But think about what I said. And I still think we should talk to Rhodes. Let him make his own choice and let Tony deal with Tony."

Half an hour later, Sam had packed up the papers and left, leaving Steve feeling rather dejected and alone in the apartment.

Perhaps, he acknowledged, Sam wasn't all wrong. He was so…tired. Tired of losing people, tired of losing pieces of his life. The Avengers had been just about all the people he had anymore. And now it seemed he'd lost those too.

Thank goodness he'd met Sam before this all went down or else he really would be alone.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he'd done the right thing moving back into his apartment and out of the tower. But he couldn't imagine that he and Tony could have continued on under the same roof. Not while he was actively searching for Bucky. And he couldn't give up on Bucky. The mere thought made him ache.

If only he could find him. He thought if he could only find him, help him, then maybe he wouldn't feel so utterly lost himself in this time that he'd never been intended for.

He wondered where Bucky was right now. He wondered how much Bucky could remember. Bucky had to remember him. Bucky had pulled him out of the water. But then if Bucky did remember, how on earth could Bucky keep running from him? Steve realized, with a start, that a piece of him hurt over this. It wasn't fair to Bucky to blame him if he ran and yet…it hurt so darn much.

Steve took a seat in an armchair and closed his eyes. He hadn't felt this utterly alone since waking up from the ice. He realized he was exhausted. He could feel it seeping through him, burrowing into his bones…

There was a knock on the door and with a start, he opened his eyes.

Reluctantly, he got up and answered it.

"Sharon?" He blinked in surprise.

"Hey." She smiled up at him. "I heard through the grapevine you were back."

"How?"

"I'm very good at my job, remember."

"I really hope Fury didn't assign you to protect me again because I don't need-"

"No. In fact it was Sam who told me."

"Sam?"

"Yes. Not you I may add."

"I didn't know you were still in town yourself."

"You should have asked." She grinned up at him, and then held up a bag of take-out. "I brought Chinese."

Steve hesitated for a moment, feeling strangely as if he was at a crossroads and then, with a smile, he let her in.

* * *

The base was well protected, and there weren't many easy places to sneak in. But, during his surveillance Clint had spotted one chink in the defenses. There was a pair of guards who routinely patrolled the east corner near where several armored vehicles were parked. There was one full minute, in which their path caused the two men to be separated from sight of each other by two of these vehicles. It wasn't a lot of time. Not enough for a full uniform change, but Clint could slip in, silently take out one guard, and grab jacket, hat, and weapon. As long as the other guard didn't look too closely, this would be enough cover until they reached the building and were just under the cameras, and Clint could take the second one out. A climb up to the roof the, and a minute later he'd be in the vents.

It all went beautifully. A smooth, promising start to the mission.

From there, everything went downhill.

Looking back, Clint realized he never could have succeeded. He was missing one vital piece of intel. Missing it so badly that he didn't even know he didn't have it, and without it, he hadn't had a hope at pulling the mission off. And even if he had known? He wasn't sure he could have managed it. Like Natasha had once said to him: there were some things they'd never been trained for.

All things considered. He'd done pretty well. He'd even almost made it out. Moving through the vents, he'd managed to find the armory. The scepter wasn't there. Next he made his way to the server room, and hacked onto the system.

There were floods of paperwork on the scepter. Lots of mentions of the lab and tests. He didn't have time to go through them. Those missing men outside would be noticed sooner rather than later. He loaded the files onto a flash drive, found a map of the compound, plotted an escape route, and then returned to the vents before making his way towards the lab.

He'd run into his first resistance in the lab. The scepter had been right there. But there were too many guards, too many people. There was no way he'd be able to reach it undetected. His best chance was to take out as many of them as possible before being noticed.

Five guards had been dealt with before the alarm was raised. He'd switched to his more explosive arrows then, creating a cover of fire and debris, as he sprinted across the room and grabbed the scepter from off its table, and fitted it into his quiver.

The alarms were ringing through the hallways now as he dashed down them. Running up stairwell, gunfire had rung out. A well timed arrow blasted a wall, blocking pursuit.

Down another hallway. Several guards appeared at the end of it, bursting out of a nearby room. He threw himself on his knees, sliding forward, coming up in front of them. A punch to one guard's throat, a kick out against another, sending him backwards into his comrades. One guard punched out and Clint grabbed his arm twisting it back. There was an ugly snap, and he threw the man back into the others.

He was running up another stairwell now, the door to the roof ahead. From there he knew his plan: a grappling hook arrow from the roof to the forest and he'd been nearly in the clear. Once in the safety of the woods, he was confident he could lose them. Five minutes more and he'd be out.

Clint burst out onto the roof, already reaching back for the arrow. He slotted it into the bow, paused for one fraction of an instant to take aim, and then _wham! _Just as he let it lose, something, some force smacked into him, knocking him back, sending the arrow flying off.

He staggered back, barely catching himself. He look round, ready for a fight, searching to see what had hit him. But what he saw didn't make sense. A young man was standing just feet away, looking perfectly calm. He was blonde, a little stubble on his chin, and he was definitely smirking. But there'd been no one on the roof when Clint had come out on it. He was sure of that. And whatever had hit him…it couldn't have been a person at that speed…

Clint was already reaching back for another arrow. The man moved. Clint assumed he moved. The speed was impossible. One moment he was there and the next, Clint was thrown back to the ground, his head hitting the concrete with a crack, and the man was standing over him, grinning.

"You're going to have to do better than that," he said, in accented English.

Blinking back the stars that had crowded his vision when his head hit the ground, Clint forced to stand back up. Keeping one hand behind him, he used the other to reach for the scepter. It was the distraction he'd hoped it'd be. In a blur, the young man rushed forward, grabbed his arm with one hand, and with the other grasped the scepter.

Clint pulled his knife out from its sheath in the back of his belt and sliced.

He made contact. The man let go of him, swore, Clint raised the knife again- and he felt hands clasp him on either side of his head.

For one panicked moment he felt a force, powerful and willful shatter its way into his mind. Internally, he screamed, desperate to force it out. Desperate not to lose control again. Desperate to keep his mind free and his own. Terror roaring through him that was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Terror at what this unknown presence was about to do.

And then his world went black.


	10. Chapter 10: Waiting

Clint's head was reeling as he slowly regained consciousness, his vision blurred. But one thought was clear in his head: whatever had been done to him, he was still control of his own mind.

It took a moment to remember why that was so important or so prominent in his thoughts, or to remember where he was.

He was lying on a hard ground, but why or nor he'd gotten there...

With a groan, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His vision swam, for a moment he thought he might black out again, and then it cleared, slowly, and leaving a sick headache behind, but he could look around himself at least.

He was in a cell and a barren one at that. Not so much as a bed graced it. Clearly his captors had no wish to keep him comfortable. The floor was concrete with iron bars making up one wall of it.

How did he end up here? Where...oh. Sokovia. Yes.

Now it was coming back. The scepter, the roof, that young man who moved impossibly fast. He recollected the crack as his own head had hit the roof and reached back to feel. There was definitely some dried blood there. But whether his headache had come from that or whatever had been done to him that knocked him out...

For he could still remember the presence and the horror as he'd felt a stranger once again invading his mind.

What or who had done that? And how had the man moved like that? It was impossible.

Of course, he'd encountered a super soldier who'd been frozen in ice for decades, a staid and serious scientist who turned into a smashing inclined great big green rage monster when he got angry, and he'd fought an alien wizard. Impossible seemed rather unlikely any longer.

He stood to his feet, his vision blurring again, and he reached out to grab the wall.

This wasn't good.

He considered making his way over to try the bars and decided against it, instead sliding back down to the ground. He doubted he'd find a weakness in them. He would try later for form's sake but once the world stopped spinning.

It was going to take all his training though to remain calm and access the situation dispassionately. He knew he was in trouble. Serious trouble, and there'd be no backup on the way.

Not that it was the first time he'd been captured, nor the first he'd had to manage his own escape. But he had to acknowledge how badly he missed having a team just now.

* * *

"We captured him. We're ready." Pietro crossed his arms, glowering at Strucker. Wanda reached out subtly and placed a soothing hand on his arm.

"You both did an impressive job against one lone man," said Strucker drily. "That is a long way from going against the Avengers or the countless enemies that face your country."

"We're ready!"

"I will be the judge of that."

"Yout made us promises!"

Strucker frowned at him. "And I have kept them! But you need training if you hope to go against a team like the Avengers. I grant you, you both have advanced a great deal in your control of your abilities but you are still inexperienced and, as this display of temper shows, immature!"

Pietro took a step forward. The guards around the room subtly shifted but Wanda had already stepped forward.

"If Hawkeye is here, surely it is only a matter of time before the other Avengers appear."

Strucker chuckled. "I think not. Unless I much mistake the matter. I know one or two things about Barton which would make me very surprised if the Avengers know or care where he is. They might even thank me. Now enough of this. I have work to do and if you are both so eager to be mission ready you should be training."

Without waiting for either twin to answer, he left the room.

With an oath, Pietro turned and in a blink was out of the room. Wanda signed and went after him.

* * *

Clint's headache had died down somewhat and he could stand now, without the threat of blacking out, so he made his way over towards the bars and inspected them. The lock was sturdy, pick-able if he'd had anything on him to use, but an investigation of his person had revealed that he'd been well searched and divested of all secret weapons and hidden tools.

He was just checking the sturdiness of each bar, when there was a whoosh of air, and the man from the roof was there, leaning against the wall on the opposite the bars, watching him.

Clint paused for a one moment, and then went back to checking the bars as he said conversationally, "Run any marathons? I bet you'd do rather well."

"You're not getting out," said the man, ignoring the comment and watching him at the bars.

"Probably not. But you've got to try. Tell me, how do you move like that? Science experiment gone wrong or science experiment gone right?"

"And why do you think I would answer your questions?"

Clint shrugged. "You're the one who showed up here. I was just making conversation."

"It doesn't matter how I move like this, it was enough to beat you."

"I hate to contradict but," said Clint, pointing at the cut along the man's left arm, "I got a pretty good hit in. And I don't think you were the one that really beat me."

"We did it _together_." The voice came from the doorway leading into this hall of cells. Clint leaned a little to one side to see who had spoken.

A young, red haired woman crossed over to the man. She was studying Clint.

Looking at them both, they seemed so young. They suddenly, horribly reminded Clint forcibly of himself, when he was first recruited by Hydra. They had to be about the same age. He wondered what lies they had been told. He wondered how lost they had to have been to believe them.

"You're the one that got into my head?" he asked.

She tilted her head a fraction of an inch. "You were terrified," she said coolly, "I could feel it."

"Yeah I've had my head messed with before. Wasn't eager to go through that again."

She raised a hand, red energy sparking and jumping between her fingers. "I could do quite a lot to your head if I chose." Clint refused to show even a flicker of the fear that suddenly shot through him. And he refused to step back as she moved forward, the energy crackling. "I could make you experience your worst fears."

"Could you? For what? Do you even know," he asked, "the kind of people you're working for?"

He was surprised at the flash of anger in her eyes. She surged forward, reaching for him. He swerved, grabbed her upper arm and pulled, twisting her around, his other arm going for her throat. There was the _woosh_, his wrist was gripped, twisted. He let out a grunt of pain and released her. A second _woosh,_ and she was across the room, the young man holding her.

Clint heard the him murmur, in soft low voice: "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, shaken, her hand at her throat- the door burst open and armed guards surged in. A man, matching Brock's description of Strucker, stalked into the room after them. He barely spared the Clint a look, but instead rounded on the other two.

"What do you think you are doing here? I did not give you authorization. And look what nearly happened!"

"We had it under control," the young man growled.

"Under control? You call your sister being attacked having it under control?"

"_I_ protected her!"

"Enough! This is just further evidence of everything I have said! You will return to your quarters and not leave them unless I say so!" Strucker turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

The young man shifted.

"Pietro, no!"

But Pietro ignored the girl and stormed after Strucker. She let out an exasperated sigh and hurried after him.

As the guards left and the door was shut, Clint retreated to the corner of his cell and sat down, massaging his wrist but his mind only half on the pain.

There'd been an antagonism in those two towards him, it had felt…personal. He recollected the expression on the girl's face when he'd asked if she knew who they worked for. It didn't make sense. Even sheer loyalty for Hydra wouldn't account for anger at that question would it? Unless perhaps she knew he'd been wiping out the remnants of Hydra. It was possible…and they were young, it was possible they were idealistic, fed on lies and half truths as he had been when recruited. And yet…he wondered. It had been a strange look. And the interaction with Strucker did not imply the complete loyalty that that explanation would have expected.

Instinct told him there was something there. What it was and if it would actually be something he could use or exploit to get out of this mess, it was impossible to say. But with his limited options, it was at least worth exploring. If he was given the chance and he ever saw them again.

It seemed, at the moment, the best he could do was wait.

* * *

"He's an Avenger!" Pietro snapped, following Strucker down the hall.

Strucker stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Pietro, cold disdain and fury etched into his face. "I gave you an order."

Wanda had caught up with them both by now. She stood by her brother tense and alert, watching Strucker warily.

"He will know about the Avengers!" continued Pietro. "He will have information we can use on them. Their strengths, their weaknesses. He can tell us how to get to Stark."

"You think I don't know that?" asked Strucker coolly. "He will certainly be made to talk. And if he knows anything of use, we will certainly get it out of him. But you two, if you wish to help your country, if you wish to succeed in getting to Stark, you will listen to me and learn to follow orders! I promised you the power to help your people and earn your vengeance. And I followed through with that promise didn't I? So when I tell you, ignoring my orders will earn you nothing but an early grave, believe me when I say it! And I for one would hate to see my hard work wasted! So go to your quarters and stay there as I told you! Do _not_ make me say it again."

This time, as he stalked off, neither twin followed him.


	11. Chapter 11: Not Okay

**AN: Thank you everyone who left comments! It really does mean a lot to know you are enjoying it.**

Jane Foster balanced a stack of papers in one arm, an Amazon box in the other, and the tote bag over one shoulder, as she fumbled for the door knob and let herself into the apartment. With her foot she slammed the door closed again and set everything down on the floor. She grabbed the mail from out the tote back and headed into the living room, where she stopped dead.

She gave a long, weary, sigh.

It was, she admitted strange. Most girls did not sigh, or at least sighed in pleasure, when they came home to find their boyfriend had decked the living room out in roses and had the table set for what was clearly planned to be a romantic dinner.

But then most girls didn't have boyfriends who'd set out to sweep them off their feet five times in the past two weeks alone.

When she'd tried to talk to Darcy about it, Darcy had been less than sympathetic.

"So you're upset because the incredibly hot alien you're dating is _too_ perfect? Allow me to find the world's smallest violin and cry you the smallest puddle I can possibly make."

This reaction had kept Jane quiet for the past two romantic gestures but enough was enough.

"Thor!"

"Ah! Jane! You are home." He strode into the room. "I have a surprise for you!"

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Ah but more than flowers: I have gone and got dinner from your favorite restaurant. I got one of everything on the menu so you can try it all!"

For a moment Jane stood there, stunned, thinking about how much food must be waiting for her in the kitchen. It was an overwhelming idea. She shook her head, set the mail down on the coffee table, and moved to the couch. "We need to talk. Now."

Thor frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Sit."

Thor crossed over and took a seat. Jane sat beside him and turned to face him. "What is wrong?" he asked, searching her face.

There was real concern in his voice, and his posture was more natural than it had been in weeks. He clearly thought something was wrong with her or had happened, and his immediate shift into being there for her so completely touched her. It almost made her waver. But no. He was willing to be there for her when she needed it, she had to be there for him now, whether he realized he needed it or not.

"Thor…what's wrong, is all of this." She swept her hand taking in the room around them. "Don't get me wrong, you've planned some amazing date nights that I have _loved_ lately, and I'm really touched that you're going to so much trouble to try and make me happy. I just think you're going to too much trouble."

"It is no trouble. I'm happy to do things to make you happy. I enjoy the time we spend together. I love you Jane."

"Thor," she smiled. "I love you too. Which is why I have to say this." She took a deep breath and took the plunge. "I think you're trying to avoid dealing with a lot of issues right now and so you're over compensating here just a little with me."

"I don't understand. I am not dealing with anything."

"That's impossible. Thor you just lost your brother and your mother. And you haven't spoken to the Avengers in months."

"That's not true. I saw Bruce just three weeks ago."

"Three weeks is a long time when you used to see them almost daily. And you saw Bruce for about five minutes when you went to grab something from the Tower. That's not the same. I'm worried about you."

"Because I want to treat you well?"

"No, because you're over doing it and you know it! Look Thor, I love having romantic evenings with you, but I also love just hanging out with you. You don't have to sweep me off my feet every week. And you didn't think you had to either, before you found out about Clint Barton."

Thor stood up and abruptly and began to pace.

"Thor…I just think you'd be happier, as backwards as it sounds, if you admitted that you're not okay right now. It's okay to not be okay." He shook his head but had frozen in his pacing. Jane gave him a moment and then stood up and came towards him, taking his hand in hers. "You've lost a lot this year. And you don't talk about it. Not to me and that's okay if you can't, but you don't talk about it to anyone else either."

He gave a weak shrug and she reached up to place a hand on his cheek.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "That's all in the past. What is important is the here and the now. With you."

"But the past is in the here and the now too. You're carrying it with you and you're in pain. You don't face it now it's going to come at you like a ton of bricks somewhere down the road. Believe me. I want to be here for you Thor. Will you let me?"

There was a long silence. "I don't know how. I've never…" He took a deep, unsteady breath.

It's what she'd expected.

She led him back to the couch. "Why don't you tell me about Loki." Of the three issues besetting him this seemed the simplest place to start.

He blinked at her, surprised. "You don't really want to hear about Loki."

She'd long since suspected that Thor had kept his grief for his brother largely hidden away since moving back to earth. She supposed it would be hard to expect the Avengers to lend a sympathetic ear on the subject and yet…she still felt a brief flicker of anger at them for it. Thor needed this. Asgardian culture, she suspected, had not taught him any better than the Avengers had, how to deal with his pain.

"Of course I do. He was important to you. He was your brother and you loved him."

"He attacked your world."

"That doesn't mean you lost the right to grieve about him to me. From what I understand we have an insane amount of food waiting for us in the kitchen. So I'm going to get some, and you're going to tell me all about growing up with him, all the times you got into fights and all the scrapes you pulled each other out of. The times he drove you crazy and the times he made you laugh. Okay?"

Thor smiled a little wistfully and leaned back into the pillows of the couch. She saw the tension from his shoulders dissipate and then he gave a nod of agreement.

"I would like that."

She kissed him again and got up. _He's going to be okay._

* * *

Clint tensed as the door to the cellblock opened and he heard a number of footsteps enter. Several armed guards appeared on the other side of the bars, and then he saw those two. Pietro, had been the name she called him? But what was the girl's name?

The guards had their weapons pointed, one unlocked the cell door and in the blink of an eye Pietro had swept in, and Clint felt his hands being grabbed and handcuffs clicking into place.

Clint blinked. It was a disorienting feeling having that speed used again you. It took your breath away.

He accessed the situation. Five guards with guns, he might be able to do deal with even handcuffed, but the girl was an unknown factor, her abilities too much of a mystery, and with Pietro's speed? No. He didn't think he could manage against him unless he found away to take him out first and that wouldn't be easy. Not with the girl watching him like a hawk.

He took this in at a glance and then turned his eyes on Pietro. There was that look again. That intent, disdainful look of dislike. It felt as personal as ever.

Clint cocked his head to one side. "Why do you hate me so much?" he asked.

If he'd hoped to surprise Pietro, he was bound for disappointment. Pietro merely grinned. It was a humorless grin. "What's there to like old man?"

Clint actually laughed. "Old? The present generation: so disrespectful."

"We're just tired of the rot."

"Perfectly understandable," said Clint pleasantly, "just one quick question. What part of the rot am I supposed to represent here?'

Any hint of a grin slid off Pietro's face. "You're an Avenger."

That was unexpected. And there was certainly a story there. Whether it was lies fed to the man by Hydra or something else. He filed it away and gave a chuckle. "Well isn't that ironic. The Avengers hate me because I'm Hydra, and Hydra hates me because I'm an Avenger. Leaves me wondering which exactly I am."

He saw the flicker of surprise in Pietro's face. But before he could continue one of the guards snapped: "Strucker's waiting."

And Pietro was pushing Clint towards the cell door. Clint did take in the exchange of glances between him and the woman. He couldn't quite read what it meant, but he'd at least elicited some emotion other than dislike. Depending on what it was, he might be able to build on it. If he survived whatever he was being lead to…

Clint was taken down several halls and stairs. He had the sense of being taken into the bowels of the compound. He kept looking for an escape with at least a mild chance of success but none presented itself. The guards were keeping too close an eye, and paired with the two with powers, it just wasn't possible.

They reached a dark, gloomy room in one of the basements. Strucker was there, watching two technicians making working on something in the back of the room but he turned his attention to Clint as he was escorted in, and smiled. "Ah, Barton. I haven't yet properly welcomed you to the base. One of the last, true bastions of Hydra."

"Just about the kind of dank hole I'd expect."

Strucker chuckled. "And that's just the type of banter _I _would expect. I've long since been impressed by you. I've read some of your mission reports, and of course no one can deny that the Battle of New York was a truly extraordinary feat. Your late activities have been somewhat beneath you. But your skills are…remarkable. It's a shame that you are here in the capacity you are. I could have truly used a man like you to pull Hydra back together again."

Clint shrugged. "Well you could always undo my cuffs and we could discuss it."

Strucker smiled and shook his head. "I think not. I doubt that would be a healthy choice for either of us. No. Besides, what I want from you now, is much less about what you can do and much more about what is in your head."

Ah. So that's what this was. Clint had wondered if he was being led to his execution. It seemed instead it was to be an interrogation. He could deal with that. And it would buy him time and perhaps a chance later. Torture was hardly something one looked forward to, but when compared with what it could have been…

Mentally, he began to prepare himself.

Strucker was continuing to talk. "There are many things I'd like to know. Who sent you here for the scepter is one. But the most important information you can give is about Hydra's current, greatest threat: the Avengers. You've lived, worked and fought alongside them. The intel you could give would be invaluable. Pardon me, I meant the intel you _will_ give."

"I gave intel on Avengers once before to a mad man. I'm not planning on doing it again."

"Yes…Loki and his scepter. Which perhaps you've forgotten, though you really shouldn't since it's what you came for, we have."

Clint looked up sharply, unable to control the sharp intake of breath. And then Strucker was laughing as if he'd just told the joke of the century.

"Oh Barton. Is it really so easy to break through that wall of yours? It will be far easier than I had expected to break you if that's the case. No, I admit, using the scepter to control your mind would be such a simple solution. Sadly, our scientists have yet to figure out how to unlock that particular aspect of the scepter's power."

Clint realized his heart was racing in a way that the prospect of his impending torture had not induced. He forced himself back in control.

"No," said Strucker, "we cannot use the scepter to control your mind. And while Wanda here," he gestured at the red haired girl, "has extraordinary power over the mind, its use for extraction of specific information is too uncertain yet and you too valuable an acquisition to serve as a lab rat."

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment."

"So you see," said Strucker, ignoring the interjection, "we will have to use more traditional methods to extract from you what we want. And I would advise you, to save yourself a lot of pain and give in now. It's not as if the Avengers will be shocked at the betrayal, will they?"

Clint's face remained impassive, but the comment hit home and stung. He hoped the Avengers would not believe he'd hand over to Strucker with the information he wanted, and feared they would.

_I've given them little reason to doubt it_.

"Now a man of your caliber," Strucker was saying, "requires methods to match. Thankfully, we have some extraordinary methods at this facility."

By this point the technicians had finished what they were working on and stepped back. Strucker turned and gestured at their work. It was a chair. At a glance Clint could not tell exactly what all its parts considered of, but it looked decidedly…unpleasant.

"We had to adapt it," said Strucker, taking on a confidential tone. "You see originally this chair did the exact opposite of what we require. It actually wiped the memories. Which obvious would be of very little use to us in this case. It was designed for the Winter Soldier. We had a number of these chairs placed at facilities throughout the world. For you know every now and then, the asset would require a reset. He worked more…smoothly that way. But Hydra engineers are nothing if not resourceful and imaginative. The pain this chair can cause is a symphony; it is a work of art worthy of the Louvre. And works of art should be appreciated, don't you agree?"

"I'm more a beer and football guy myself."

Strucker chuckled. "You amuse me Barton. So this will be a real pleasure for me." He nodded towards two of the nearby guards. "Put him in the chair." As Clint was strapped in, Strucker added: "The memory features have been removed; the pain will be very much the same. I have never experienced the chair firsthand, but I did once have the pleasure of seeing the asset in it. A man who lost one arm, had a metal one fused in without anesthesia and underwent Dr. Zola's tender loving care, found the pain unbearable. We're both in for a treat Barton." He turned to the man stationed at the controls. "Turn it on."

Wanda started as the first scream echoed around the room. Pietro reached for her hand. She stood and watched, her hand gripping his, until fifteen minutes had passed and she could not bear it anymore. She turned her back, and listened to the screams as she continued to hold her brothers hand.


	12. Chapter 12: Personal

Tony shifted through several sheets of scrap paper spread over one worktable, then moved over to the cupboard looking for the right part.

"I know it's here somewhere…" He shoved aside various prototypes, wires, bolts. There was something in the back, long and thin. "Ah there it is." He pulled it out and froze.

It was not the tube he'd been looking for. He was holding an arrow. It was one of the ones he'd been developing for Clint. Most of them he'd already destroyed in a fit of…well, he had to admit, rage. He must have overlooked this one. He absently wondered how.

Tony held it in his hand, uncertain. The rage had given way to something a bit more rational. But there was still anger and something that hurt. He balanced the arrow on his palm and studied it.

The lab doors slid open and Bruce walked in. "Coffee run is here. They were out of the bagels so I got us those muffins instead-" As he set the food down on one of tables he glanced up, saw the arrow, and froze. "Oh." There was a flicker of worry in his expression.

Tony's hand closed around the shaft. "What?" It came out a bit more like a snap than he'd intended it do.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"Not really."

"Well what were you 'not really' thinking?"

"Tony, I don't think it matters."

"You're looking all…Bruce-y."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"All serious and worried. You know with that little furrow between the brows and like if you had your glasses on right now, you'd take 'em off and start rubbing your eyes."

Instead, Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay I am worried; the arrow just, reminded me. That's it, it's nothing new."

"Worried about what? _Me_ still? Because whatever my issues are, in the grand scheme of my life I am in a way healthier place right now than I've been for the majority of my life, just ask Pepper. Or check the back issues of various tabloids. This doesn't even make my top five least healthy coping moments."

"Actually…it's not you I'm worried about. I'm worried about Clint." There was just a touch of defiance in his voice as he said this.

Tony stared. "You're worried about _Clint_? The super assassin Hydra agent that somehow, despite betraying everyone, still got a free pass?"

"Well…yeah."

"Seems kind of like a waste of time. The guy can clearly take care of himself. And he gets to just go off and retire at that mysterious 'home' of his Nat mentioned, another indicator by the way of all the things he kept from us."

"Well he was a spy."

"Do you think he liked his martinis shaken and not stirred?" asked Tony, beginning to twirl the arrow between his fingers.

"Look, I'm not denying Clint can take care of himself in most situations. But there are some threats that are more difficult to combat," said Bruce slowly. "I keep remembering his expression that last day."

"He knew the game was up. And he had no idea what we were going to do to him. He had every reason to be scared."

"It wasn't fear," said Bruce. "If fear had been his primary concern he didn't have to come back at all once Nat told him about the files being released. No, he tried to hide it, and he did a darn good job. But I know that look. It was the look of a man who hates what he's become."

"Good," Tony snapped, "he should hate it. The things he did…he should hate himself. I've made mistakes too, and guess what, I manned up and fixed them. Clint didn't do anything. We'd never have known what he'd done until it was too late if Nat hadn't leaked those records."

Bruce hesitated a moment, he looked like a man carefully considering what he was about to say next. "The things is…the reason I do worry is the same reason why I knew that look. I've seen that look in the mirror."

"Bruce, no. You and what you've been through is nothing like-"

Bruce held up a hand. "Tony. I'm not saying the Hulk and what Clint is dealing with are the same thing. But when I had that look, it was during some of the darkest moments of my life…I know I said some things on the helicarrier, about what I tried to do to myself. When you really and truly can't stand being in your own head anymore, then there's really only one way to get away from it. One out you can see. At least most people have one way. I didn't because I had the Hulk…Clint doesn't have the Hulk. As far as I know Clint doesn't have anyone."

Tony had frozen. "You think Clint might…"

"I don't know. All I know is Clint is my friend. You have the right to put that sentence in the past tense. That's your choice. But it's my choice not to. And he's alone. And I'm worried about him." A full minute of silence ticked by. Bruce ran his hand roughly across his face and then shook his head. "I need to go Tony. For a walk or something. I just...don't think I'm going to be able to focus on work right now. I'll see you this afternoon."

He left the lab, leaving Tony standing alone, the arrow still in his hand.

Gently, carefully, Tony set it down on the nearby worktable. He stared at it.

Incongruously, the explanation of why this arrow had been in the cupboard popped into his head. There'd been something wrong with the wiring. He'd still been working on it. The other arrows had been completed and set to one side. That's how it had survived the great arrow purge.

Something nudged his foot and he looked down. Dum-E was there, holding up, almost hopefully, a tiny screwdriver, the size needed for such delicate work.

He stared down at it, and then, refusing to allow himself to think, he took the tool, pulled up a chair, and began to tinker with the arrow, refusing to allow himself to dwell on Bruce's words.

When Bruce came back that afternoon, the now completed arrow had already been whisked away back out of sight. And neither brought the subject of Clint back up again. But they could both feel him, there in the lab as they worked.

* * *

Clint was dropped to the floor of his cell. Tremors were still running through his body, aftershocks of the abuse it had taken. He was trying desperately to martial his thoughts, but his brain was still oozing pain, his vision kept jumping in and out of focus, and he couldn't seem to regain control of his own body and force it to still.

This was not the first time he had endured torture. But…that chair…it was something like he had never felt before. And he was terrified. Not of facing it again, but that eventually he truly would break.

He knew that torture, when the interrogator had time, was most effective spread out over several days. This allowed the body to slowly deteriorate, the pain to increase over prolonged exposure, the dread to grow into a monster nearly as large as the pain.

Today he had survived and endured. Tomorrow he would as well.

But what about the day after that? Or the day after that?

If he broke, would the Avengers ever know that he had fought at all? He doubted Strucker would let him live long enough to tell them, even if they could be brought to believe him. He hated to think they might think he'd sold them out without a moment's of hesitation, or that Fury might think he'd been a fool to give him a second chance. A way of desperation washed over him.

He closed his eyes and thought desperately of Laura, and felt a small flicker of strength, deep inside. He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to hold onto that life raft, trying to fight against the waves that threatened to drown him.

A voice broke through his thoughts: "Wanda."

He realized he was not alone. The guards had left but the girl and man had stayed. He was hanging back clearly wanting to leave, but she was standing at the bars, one hand on them, looking in, an unreadable expression on her face. Clint tried to focus, tried decipher it, but his thoughts were too disordered, the pain making concentration too difficult.

"Wanda," Pietro said again. She ignored him.

"What did you mean?" The question was directed at Clint. He tried to push himself up, and failed, the best he could do was lean back heavily against the wall. The tremors had subsided a little, but they still left his limbs unpredictable. "You said you were Hydra?"

"I…was." Clint said, his teeth chattering.

"Before you were an Avenger."

"Before…during…"

He tried to martial his thoughts. These two might be an opportunity, these two might be a way out…but he was too exhausted and strained to know how best to respond, to judge, to weight his words or read the room…

"You were Hydra while an Avenger?"

"I've been Hydra since I was nineteen."

"Then why do you not give Strucker the information he wants, if you are one of us?"

"Us?" He fell silent for a moment, as another rush of tremors ran through his body. "Are you really one of these people? Are you really like Strucker?"

A flash of memory from the previous hours, Strucker's voice, gloating, delighting in the scene…Clint forced it back.

There was a flicker of something on her face but he was too tired to place it. Perhaps she had had the same memory. "The Avengers are trying to destroy Hydra. They are a threat," she said, firmly.

"I don't know what lies Hydra has sold you. I don't know what promises they've made. But you can't trust them."

"They've given us what they promised," snapped Pietro. Wanda glanced at him. "Some of what they promised," he amended. "And they will fulfill the rest." Exhausted as he was, Clint could recognize the steely determination in the man's voice.

"What have they given you?"

Wanda's head raised a little higher. "The ability to protect ourselves, to protect out people, and to bring justice to those wronged. If you're truly Hydra, you would care about those things."

Clint gave a weak laugh that trailed off as a shiver ran through his body. He waited for it to pass. "Hydra doesn't care about any of those things. Hydra cares about control and power. It will string you along until you're in too deep to see a way out and then it will close the trap on you. I've been where you are. I've believed the stories they told. And you need to believe them, because at some point what's on your hands, you can't accept that you did it for the wrong reasons. That you're the bad guy you thought you were fighting. You kill someone to save the world: that's a sacrifice to protect others, and you're a hero. You kill someone because you believed a lie: you're a murderer."

"When we kill Stark, I don't care what that makes us."

Clint had leaned his head back against the wall, too exhausted to keep his eyes on her, but at this he forced himself to straighten and look at her. "Tony? Why Tony?"

"Stark is a murderer," Pietro snapped. "You talk of protecting the world? That is what we will be doing when we use the powers _Hydra_ gave us to destroy him."

Clint stared at the two. There was that anger, personal and strong that he had seen earlier. And clarity, sharp and strong, pierced through the fog of pain that was still clouding his mind. "What did Stark do to you?"

There was a sharp intake of breath. Rage, loathing, hatred, anger…and hurt…all warring on Pietro's face. Wanda's was more still, more hard. For a moment Clint wasn't sure if he was going to get a response or not. And then Pietro began to speak.

"We were ten years old. Having dinner. Us…our parents. And then the shell hits. Two floors below. It makes a hole in the floor. Our parents…gone, and the whole building starts coming apart. I grab her and the second shell hits. But, it doesn't go off. It just...sits there in the rubble, three feet from our faces. And on the side of the shell is painted one word...

"Stark…" Wanda finishes, in a flat tone.

"Oh. I see," Clint said, gently.

"And what could we do? Hmm?" Pietro had begun to pace. "The great Tony Stark, half a world away. More money and technology at his disposal than is in the whole of Sokovia. Respected and honored! Acclaimed a hero! What could we ever do? We couldn't even make a difference as our country tore itself apart. And then…Strucker comes. He offers us a chance. A chance not to be weak. A chance to _never_ be the weak ones again. And a chance to make sure Tony Stark never murders another family. You say you know what Hydra is. Well we know what Tony Stark is, and we know what the Avengers are!"

He turned, and left the room. Wanda gave Clint one cold, long look, and followed her brother out of the room.


	13. Chapter 13: Complex

Wanda lay on her back, stretched out on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking about?" Pietro was standing in the doorway, watching her.

She shrugged. "I was just thinking."

There was a long pause. "It upset you. What Strucker did to him."

She sat up. "Didn't it upset you?" She watched him closely as she asked that question.

"We've seen a lot since coming here." It wasn't exactly answer. "We'd seen a lot before that." He wasn't looking at her.

Wanda thought about it. She raised a hand and red energy jumped from finger to finger, twinning around wrist.

Life…had grown complex.

She supposed it was Pietro's talking about their parents' death. But images of their childhood kept playing through her head.

So complex. There'd been simplicity once. Was this merely the way life was? With age came complexity of grays? Or was it truly as simple as it ever been? And they had just chosen to turn a blind eye to that for the sake of their own ends?

"He's an Avenger," said Pietro. Was he reassuring her or himself?

"I know."

"Then you know what he is."

"He said he was Hydra."

Pietro shrugged. "If he was, he would tell Strucker what he wanted to know."

"But it's complicated."

"Does it matter?"

"Hmm."

"What?" He looked up at her.

"I just…don't like the chair."

There seemed to be nothing more to say. The two looked at each other.

* * *

Clint sat in the corner of the cell and thought of Wanda and Pietro. He knew he should be planning some way to reach them, some way to use the story they had told him to manipulate them, give him a chance of escape. But he felt too raw.

They were just kids. And it reminded him of himself. He'd just been a kid when Hydra approached him. Nineteen, so certain he knew all the answers and at the same time so completely lost and desperate. Hydra had prayed on that.

No one had been around to save him. Whatever happened to himself, right now in this moment, he hoped Wanda and Pietro would find a different path.

He thought of the story he'd been told. It was tragic. Tony would be the first to mourn it. Tony would be the last to defend it. How to explain that to the pair? How to explain that Tony woke up every day determined to right the past with a new future?

Clint imagined himself at nineteen. What would he have listened to? Could he have listened? Was the path he'd taken inevitable?

He clinched his fist.

He couldn't save his nineteen year old self. He couldn't save himself from the years between then and now. He might not even be able to save himself in the present. Deep down, he felt himself to already be well past lost.

But if he could, he would, save those two. He would do everything he could to stop them from making the mistakes of his past.

* * *

Nat let herself into the safe house. She peeled off her clothes and went to the bathroom. There were a series of bruises along one side of her rib cage, snaking down to her stomach, and a cut on her upper left arm. She examined the cut, and then pulled out a first aid kit to clean and bandage it, before taking a shower.

She twisted the water temperature up to high, and closed her eyes, the steam wrapping round her, letting herself drift for a moment as she tried to will the ache and exhaustion to seep from her muscles and into the water.

Coming out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, she pulled out a clean set of clothes from her go bag, dressed, and then pulled a flash drive from the pocket of the pants she'd left on the floor.

Taking a seat in one of the armchairs, she plugged the drive into her laptop, pulled out her burner phone to call Fury.

"Yes?"

"I got the files. I'm sending them to you now," she said, typing quickly on the keyboard.

"Good work. Any trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Good."

"I'll be ready for another assignment tomorrow."

There was just an infinitesimal pause. "I'll have something for you next week."

"I am mission ready now."

"Romanoff, you have not had a real break since before Hydra got taken down."

"I am mission ready."

"Romanoff, you will take a rest and that is an order."

"You can't order my free time," she snapped.

There was a lengthy pause. If Fury had been there in person, they would have stared each other down. Natasha wasn't entirely certainly she could have won it just now. She was just a little too aware of how dreadfully tired she really was.

But over the phone, it was another matter. And she had something else on her side. The fact that he truly could not stop her. If he didn't give her a mission, she'd go out and find one for herself.

"Very well," said Fury, shortly. "I'll send you over the details tomorrow."

"Good." She hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed, then leaned back in the armchair and closed her eyes, pressing her finger tips into the corners of her eyelids.

She knew she was wearing thin. She knew she was exhausted and bruised. But she also knew she just had to keep pushing. Keep focused on the job. It was the only bloody thing left. It'd had made sense once. She had to hold onto it until it made sense again. Memories, unbidden, off her conversation with Loki flittered through her mind…

_"I owe him a debt."_

_"Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red."_

_"…saving a man no more virtuous than yourself…"_

_"You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!"_

And then a memory, somehow more painful than that…

_"Come on Nat. You need a break." Clint was smiling at her._

_She looked up from the papers she was pouring over. "I have work to do."_

_"So do I. I'm still heading home for the week and the work will be there when I get back."_

_She smiled. "You have a family. You've _got_ to head home."_

_"And you're Aunt Nat and you've got to head there with me. Come on. Laura would love to have you and the kids have been asking about you."_

_Nat rolled her eyes. "They have not."_

_"What? You think I'd use my kids to lie?" He pulled out his phone. "I will call them right now on speaker phone if you don't believe me."_

_"Clint." He started to dial. She reached out and grabbed his phone. "Okay, I believe you."_

_"So you'll come back with me?"_

_She hesitated and looked down at the mission reports. "I did tell Fury I'd deal with this."_

_"Come on. You can fight the bad guys another time. They'll still be here in a week. And you'll be in better shape to deal with them. Don't make me call the kids to guilt you."_

_She laughed. "I'll expect pancakes."_

_"Blueberry. No one makes 'em like Laura."_

Nat reached out a foot and kicked the coffee table over with one, sharp vicious thrust and then stood to her feet.

If Clint was going to be Hydra, he should have recruited her too. Anything else was cruel. He'd been her lifeline to a world of sanity and redemption and then he disappeared leaving her in the uncharted territories of doubt she thought he'd navigated her out of.

_"Dripping, it's gushing red."_

_"You pretend to be separate."_

_"They are a part of you, and they will never go away."_

It wasn't midnight yet. She would train for a couple of hours.

* * *

Clint closed his eyes briefly as he heard the guards enter the cellblock and there was noise of the cell door being opened. He tried to mentally prepare himself for what he now knew was coming: for Strucker, for the chair…

There was the familiar sound of Pietro's speed, and Clint felt himself pulled to his feet and the handcuffs once again clicked into place. Clint opened his eyes to meet Pietro's.

"Do you have any idea what Hydra really is?" he said quietly. "Is this really you?"

There was a flash of anger in Pietro's eyes, and then he pushed Clint towards the guards.


	14. Chapter 14: A Hero

**AN: Thank you for the lovely comment TheAmberShadow! I appreciate it.**

Clint didn't even feel it as he was dropped back on his cell floor. Nausea and dizziness were fighting for supremacy, while the tremors, stronger than last time, shook him. Intellectually he might know it would pass, but there was a certain terror inherent in not being to control your own body. He closed his eyes and tried to take comfort in the fact that he'd continued to remain silent, but Strucker was also growing more impatient, which boded ill for the future.

"What do you know about Hydra?"

He opened his eyes and sought, through the tilting, dizzy world, who had spoken. He realized that once again the siblings had held back. Wanda was standing at the bars. What her expression was, in his present condition, he couldn't tell.

Clint tried to form an answer but found coherent thought nearly impossible.

"Give me...minute..." It took all he had to force even that out, his teeth chattering, his body still reacting violently to the abuse inflicted on it, and the words came out shaky and weak.

He heard footsteps and for a moment he thought she had left, and he desperately tried to find the strength to call her back so as not to lose this chance that might never come again.

But she hadn't left. She was simply pacing.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of her footsteps. It was a distraction, something for his mind to focus on instead of the shaking of his own body, which in turn allowed him to calm the fear triggered by the tremors and calm his breath. With more even breathing, the shaking stilled a little

When he opened his eyes ten minutes later, the world, while still inclined to tilt, did not feel as if it were dancing round him any longer and while there was still the occasional jerk of a limb, he had a little control. Enough to pull himself into a sitting position against the back wall. This movement caused a fresh wave of vertigo, but another minute of closed eyes and it passed.

"What did you ask me?" His voice was strained but clearer than before. There was no shaking of the voice now.

Wanda stopped pacing and came back to the bars. Her brother was, as before, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, looking more as if he were guarding his sister then actually interested in the conversation.

"You said that we don't know what Hydra is. Very well. Tell us."

Clint sighed and tried to martial his thoughts. This was an opportunity, a chance, but he felt too exhausted to make the most of it. For one weak moment he thought of brushing her off, rolling over and sleeping until they came for him again the next day. It would mean giving up, but what did that really matter?

And yet...

It did matter. He had promised himself he would make a push for these too. And it mattered for Laura. And it mattered for of Cooper and Lila. He couldn't give up. It would be so easy. But he couldn't allow himself to take the easy path. Not again.

It felt like a colossus effort to concentrate, to focus enough to reply. But he pushed himself, and once he started talking it grew a little easier.

"Hydra has been bent on world domination since World War II. They thought the Nazis were too lenient, that should give an idea of what their values are. They want to control. Everything and everyone, and when something gets in their way...they destroy it."

He had to stop, to catch his breath.

"They believe in order, their order, imposed at any cost. Those are their values. If they gave you your powers...then you can be certain they mean to abuse them. They prey on the lost and the weak. Whatever they told about their vision and their ends, they left out the rottenness at their heart."

He stared, unseeingly before him. He saw himself, making that first kill. And many kills after. His stomach twisted. "They lied to me. Again and again. I killed people for them, based on their lies. I betrayed everyone I ever cared about. At first because of a world of lies that Hydra sold me. And then because I couldn't see my way out again. You cannot trust Hydra. They will use you. They will use you and destroy you…in one way or another. Whatever they've told you, the truth is simple. Hydra are the villains."

"So what if they are?" Pietro snapped. "There isn't a great deal too choose from is there? One villain or the other. And at least Hydra took us in and gave us something. Maybe everything you say is true. But as I see it, all there are in this damn world are the bad guys."

"There are heroes."

"Who? Your precious Avengers?" he sneered.

Clint focused his gaze on Pietro with an effort. He looked younger in Clint's eyes at this moment than he ever had before. The anger such an obvious, desperate wall of defense.

"Yes," he said gently. "Sometimes. And anyone who tries to do the right thing. It might not be easy. But there's always a right thing. And sometimes you have to sacrifice for it. Sacrifice power or wealth, opportunities, time, even your life. And sometimes you have to sacrifice your anger. And you fail. But you take responsibility for those failures, you don't run from them. And you stand back up and try again. And again and again if that's what it takes. Life throws a lot of crap at you. But being the hero means you don't use that as an excuse or a way to hide.

"The good guy doesn't need a metal suit, an alien hammer, or even super speed. And it's not about legacies or attention. It's not even about redemption. The good guy just needs to choose to do the right thing because it is the right thing and because it helps people and because _someone_ has to do it. Tony would be the first to agree with that. You know his story as well as everyone else in the world. You know why he became Iron Man. You think he became Iron Man and felt that made the balance right? If he did he wouldn't have a reason to keep fighting. You think flying a nuke into outer space, stopping an alien invasion and saving New York from being blown up, cleared his conscience? You think that's really why he did that?

"Killing Tony isn't going to bring you two peace. That's not how that works. I know. I've killed Hydra agents, trying to clean up the mess I helped to make. But that's not going to make me right with myself."

"You still do it," said Wanda.

"Yes. I do. They're a threat, a real threat, and a threat I'm in a good position to deal with. But it doesn't make me right with the people I hurt or right with myself. I wish I had easy answers for you both…but I don't….I'm sorry for what you've been put through. But it doesn't make what you're doing now right. But you have a choice to make. And despite everything that's been done to you, at the end of the day, it's your choice. And you have to answer for it, right or wrong, somewhere down the line."

He leaned back, exhausted and drained from the effort.

"I…" Wanda began and then closed her mouth. She looked over at her brother.

Clint thought if he could read their expressions right now, he might know if his words had had any effect, if at least there was hope for these two somewhere down a long line, even if not for himself. But he was too tired. The world had started to spin again. He closed his eyes. He didn't know when the pair left, for sleep overwhelmed him.


	15. Chapter 15: To Have a Heart

"What are you thinking about?"

Tony glanced up at Pepper. There was a mouthwatering dinner laid out for two in a small dining room in the tower, a bottle of wine open on the table, and she was looking radiant, dressed in a gorgeous little black dress, her hair down, falling over her shoulders just the way he liked it best. And yet his mind wasn't in the room. He was, he decided, certifiably insane if he could be distracted at a moment like this.

"Nothing. Just enjoying the food." He smiled at her. "Not thinking about anything. Tell me how your day was."

She looked at him, and smiled. It was that smile he knew so well. That _'Tony, really? You think you can fool me that easily?'_ smile that had intrigued him from the first day he hired her. "I already told you how my day was…twice. So come on. Why don't you tell me what's going on with you instead? Maybe we'll have better luck."

Tony chuckled and took a drink of his wine. "Nothing...much. I guess I can't really get over something Bruce said to me the other day."

"About what?"

"Well, about Clint actually."

"Oh." She waited, watching him closely.

Tony swirled the wine around in his glass. "He was a friend you know."

"I do know Tony. And I understand that made the betrayal hurt, a lot."

"Yeah." He set down the glass and leaned forward. "The things is, he didn't capture or threaten to kill you. He didn't rip my reactor out and leave me to die. He didn't hand me off to some terrorists to be murdered. He's not Obadiah. So it's really, really easy to be angry at him. But it's not as easy to hate him as I thought."

"What are you saying?"

He leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I guess maybe that it's not so simple? That while I'm not about to rush out and forgive him, that I find I can still worry about him? That part of me never wants to see that guy again and if I do I want to throttle him and the other part wishes I knew where he was right now." He gave a humorless chuckle. "I really don't know what I'm saying Pepper."

"I do," she smiled at him. "Tony Stark has a heart, remember? I've seen the proof." She got up and came over to him, sitting down on the arm of his chair and reaching out a hand to his cheek. "And you've got a very big one." She leaned forward and kissed him.

* * *

"We will put him in again, and now! I am growing impatient," Strucker snapped.

"There are risks," the doctor responded, placating, "We could do permanent damage to Barton if we don't give him enough breaks between sessions."

"The Asset survived it."

"Barton does not have the Asset's healing abilities or strength. His body is already suffering more of the after effects of the treatment than the Asset did."

"Good. We need to wear him down."

"We could kill him. We have no idea how many of these sessions in what space of time, will be one too many."

"Well, you're a scientist. You should enjoy the experiment." Strucker turned to Wanda and Pietro who'd been standing to the side, waiting through the disagreement. "Bring him. Now." He then nodded to the guards, who followed the twins out of the room.

Pietro glanced down at Wanda as they walked. She briefly glanced up at him and their eyes met, held for a fraction of a moment, and then she turned her gaze to the front once more.

They reached Clint's cell. He was asleep when they came in, but the sound of his entrance started him awake. Immediately, Pietro could see the tension set in. Barton knew what was coming. He knew how bad it was going to be.

When Pietro pulled him to his feet, there was no comment, he didn't even meet Pietro's eyes, and when he was pushed towards the guards he stumbled a little.

Watching him, as they walked back along the hallway and down the stairs, Barton seemed to be decidedly weaker on his feet than the previous times they took this walk. Pietro wondered how many times they could make this trip before Barton would be unable to walk it at all? He glanced at Wanda again at this thought.

She didn't seem to be watching Barton, nor the guards, nor did she return Pietro's look. But he knew that expression on her face. She was deep in thought. She had had that look when Strucker first approached them for one.

As they reentered the room with the chair, Strucker beamed.

"Barton, here we are again." He tsk'ed. "You're not looking too well."

"I'm fine." Clint tried for a light tone, but it came out a little too strained. "Thanks for the concern though."

"Tell me Barton," said Strucker, coming over to stand inches from him. "How long do you really think you can continue to resist? Hmmm? How long before you crack and tell me exactly what I want to know? You're not even killing the Avengers. All you're doing is giving me a little information. A little insight. What harm could it really do? While the chair, well, I've been told it can do a great deal of harm. Perhaps it will even fry your brain." He reached up and tapped Clint on the forehead. "Leave you a halfwit for the rest of your life? Would you like that Barton? To permanently lose your own mind? Left just sane enough to know what you're missing? I would imagine for a man who has been through what you have, for a man so determined to keep his mind his own, that would be a fate worse than death."

Pietro saw a flicker in Clint's eyes, anger or terror he wasn't sure which it was.

Strucker laughed as if he'd just told an excellent joke. He stepped back. "It might interest you to know, the dear doctor has expressed some concerns about putting you in the chair too often. He says we don't know what effects it could have, but frankly I'm quite curious to see the results. Aren't you?"

Clint shrugged. It was a forced effort and a small act of defiance, Barton trying to cling to his earlier bravado, but Pietro admired it nonetheless. "Not particularly."

"Of course, we could leave this room right now. Go upstairs. I could pour you a drink. I have an excellent vodka. We could relax, and have a little chat about the Avengers. No one outside of this room would ever have to know."

There was a beat. "I don't like vodka. So I think I'll have to pass."

Any trace of a smile slipped from Strucker's face. "Put him in the chair," he snapped.

Two guards grabbed Clint and brought him forward. Wanda moved to stand beside Pietro. He looked down at her again. The expression of deep concentration and thought was still there.

Strucker gave an order, the engineers moved to their positions. At a snap of the finger by Strucker, a switch was flicked, and Clint's screams filled the room, echoing around the walls, burrowing into Pietro's brain-

_"ENOUGH!" _Red energy exploded from Wanda, roaring across the room, slamming into Strucker, the engineers, half the guards. At almost the same moment Pietro moved, taking out the remaining guards that stood behind.

He hadn't realized until now how prepared he was, how absolutely certain he'd been that she'd make the move. He'd been waiting, not to see if she acted but only when.

Wanda rushed over to the chair and shut it off. Pietro, checking first that everyone was down, joined her and disconnected Clint from the device.

"He's shaking," he muttered. "It's not stopping. Are you sure the chair's off?"

"Yes. Here," she came over quickly. "Barton? Barton?" Whether Clint heard her or not was unclear. His whole body was convulsing. "I'm sorry about this," she whispered. "I have to do it."

She reached out a hand and placed it on his forehead. Red energy sparkled from her eyes and from her palms, tendrils wrapping about Clint's head. She concentrated on waves of calm and peace, soothing his brain and body and then as he slowly stilled, sent him to sleep.

Wanda looked up at Pietro. "It will be easier to get him out this way. Can you carry him?" He nodded. "Good. I'll lead the way. You follow. I _can _take care of myself. You keep him safe. If you have to, _run _with him. I'll make my own way."

Pietro didn't like it, protecting Wanda, no matter how strong she became, what abilities she possessed, would always be his job. But he also knew better than to argue with her when she was in this mood, when the steel was in her voice. So he nodded and, with an effort, grabbed Clint, and picked him up.

They moved towards the door. Pietro behind, Wanda leading the way, energy sparking at her finger tips, power radiating from her.

The guards never stood a chance.

* * *

The phone rang and kept ringing. Pepper reached over and nudged Tony who let out a grunt. He, refusing to get up more than he had to, reached a hand out and felt around on the nightstand for cell without lifting his head from the pillow.

"Yeah?" he yawned into his cell phone, keeping his eyes closed so he'd be able to slip back to sleep in just a moment. "This had better be good."

"Hey," said a cheery voice on the other end of the line, "I'm calling to earn that lovely paycheck you send me every month. It's been feeling pretty unearned lately, you've gotten dull Tony, but I've got something good for you now."

Max Shepherd, one of the many employees spread around various newspapers and tabloids, that Tony paid a healthy stipend to in order to be given advanced warning of unpleasant stories about to leak. Sometimes they could even kill it for him.

"Max," Tony groaned, "couldn't it wait for the morning?"

"No can do. Look, Tony I couldn't kill the story for you. Frankly the best I could do was buy you twenty-four hours, and that was tough. This is big."

"Okay." He pulled himself up into a sitting position, which caused Pepper to give a sleepy groan and roll over. "Hit me with it."

"Well you know all those files from SHIELD that got leaked? Yeah, well like every other news organization and government we've been going through them too. Absurd amount of stuff on there. I mean you're having a slow news day, just dip into them and you can find some good dirt."

"None of this is exactly news Max. Cut to the gist before I fall asleep on you." He yawned again.

"I'm getting there. Well our researches stumbled on something…about one of the Avengers."

Tony sat bolt upright. Pepper, sensing the shift in position and the atmosphere in the room, looked round at him. His expression caused her to sit up too.

"Which Avenger?" he asked.

"Hawkeye. Look Tony, no easy way to say this. We have proof that Clint Barton was a Hydra agent. And the story's getting written up as we speak."

Tony stared at the wall for a full minute in silence.

"Uh? Tony? You there?"

"Yeah…I have twenty-four hours?"

"Yep. But I can't buy you anymore time after that. These files are available to everyone; it makes the paper antsy about getting scooped."

"Thanks Max. Expect a bonus this month." Tony hung up the phone.

"Tony?" asked Pepper. "What's wrong?"

"A paper's made the connection between Clint and Hydra."

"Oh. Well we knew it was only a matter of time before someone did. It was inevitable."

Yeah, Tony thought, it was inevitable. But then again, when had Tony Stark ever rolled over and accepted the inevitable?

He got out of bed. "Jarvis! Call an emergency Avengers meeting."


	16. Chapter 16: A United Front

The house was falling apart, but it was in better shape than most of the others in the deserted village. Pietro lowered Clint onto a mattress in one of the rooms, his arms aching from having carried him for so long and so far. But he wasn't done yet. He'd left Wanda several miles away, hiding in the forest.

Already tired from the physical exertions of the day, he was a little slower bringing her, and it was a half an hour later before they returned to the house he'd left Barton in.

Wanda checked on the sleeping man. "He didn't wake at all during the trip?"

Pietro shook his head. "No. He's pretty soundly asleep."

She chewed on her lip, a worried frown playing across her face. "Do you think I-, should I wake him?"

"No. His body needs the rest."

"I just…hope I didn't put him too deeply to sleep. I don't…I don't know exactly how much control I have."

"He needed to be calmed down to get out of there. You did the right thing. And I'm not surprised he's still asleep after everything he's been through."

She nodded.

Together the two went out into what had once been a living room. Wanda took a seat on the floor in one of the corners and Pietro joined her. For a moment they sat there as the shock of the past twelve hours hit them. Then Wanda buried her face in her arms. Pietro snaked an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

They were alone again. Just the two of them once more. No one at their back. No home. No guiding goal. Untethered in a world that seemed to have forgotten them all over again.

"What have we done?" he asked, quietly, giving voice to the fear that had been gnawing at the back of his mind.

"What we had to. What they would have wanted us to do."

Pietro didn't have to ask who she meant. They both knew...their parents.

* * *

Bruce stepped out of the elevator and into the common room and was surprised to see that everyone was already there. Everyone but Tony of course. But then Tony usually was late.

There were a few nodded greetings which he returned. There was definitely a sense of strain in the room. Someone had already made a pot of coffee so he went over to pour himself a cup and took the opportunity to study the other three.

Thor, he was surprised to see, looked better than he had since…hmm, well perhaps since Bruce had known him. He looked more relaxed, more at ease. He did not exactly look happy but he looked…contented and at peace. Which would make him the only one of those present.

Nat was concerning. She looked exhausted. There was a tension in the way she stood, tight and controlled.

Steve was somewhere in the middle between these two. He looked uncomfortable but not distressed. As Bruce studied him, Steve met his eyes.

"Where's Tony?" he asked.

"Don't know. He wasn't in the lab this morning."

"What is this about?"

"I don't know that either."

The elevators opened and they all turned, expecting Tony, but instead, Fury stepped into the room.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked.

Fury shrugged. "Stark asked me."

"Any idea what this is about?"

"No."

Bruce frowned. He'd seen Tony just the past afternoon and he'd mentioned nothing about any of this. He glanced up as Thor cleared his throat.

"Well, regardless of his reason," said Thor, "it is good to see you all. I have missed you."

"Me too," said Bruce. Thor beamed at him.

The elevator doors slid open once more, and this time Tony did step into the room. He appeared to be just hanging up a phone call and as he did so, he pulled his headset off, tossed it aside and took in the room. "Great, you're all here, which means we can get started." He headed over to where Bruce was standing by the coffee pot and poured himself some as well. Up close, Bruce could see he looked tired. He'd seen Tony on a couple of other occasions during which he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, usually while working in the lab. Whatever Tony was up to, he'd been working hard.

"What is this about Stark?" demanded Fury.

"In about twelve hours, a newspaper is releasing an article detailing the connection between Clint and the Hydra in all its gory details. Correction: some of the gory details. I'll doubt they'll have everything. But I'm sure once the story leaks, people will go mining for a lot more. Which is why we need to move on this and move fast."

"Move how?" It was the first time Bruce had heard Natasha speak since coming into the room.

"We're going to release a statement. We're going to say that Clint came to Fury three years ago and told him about Hydra. He knew there were agents inside Shield but he had no idea how deep it went. Since that point, Clint's been working an undercover operation with Fury, completely off books since Shield was compromised. Given how far back Clint's connection to Hydra goes, we can't deny that he did once work for them, but people love a redemption story. We can't entirely save his reputation but we can stop him from becoming wanted. At least we can do out damn best. But we need to sell this. We _need_ to present a united front. Or we lose creditability and we lose trust. Which is exactly what we need if want to convince governments that Clint shouldn't face charges."

"Then why do it?" asked Steve.

Tony crossed his arms. "Because when Clint wakes up tomorrow and see the news, he's also going to see that we stood up for him. He might not have a place in the Avengers anymore but he sure as hell isn't going to be hung out to dry."

"So what do you need us to do exactly?" asked Bruce.

"Well you not so much. You're good. The others, they need to move back to the tower. At least for half the time. Again: united front. Hopefully Fury can give us a couple missions as well. Nothing too difficult, just some good PR opportunities."

"Tony!" said Steve, a little shocked.

"What? Being heroes isn't about PR? Tough. We're not heroes right now. We're doing what we have to. I already have a press conference scheduled for tomorrow."

"If we've known about Clint all along, how are we going to explain why he isn't with us?" asked Bruce.

"Easy. The man has been in a life or death, deep undercover mission for the past three years. He's been under immense strain and taking some time away. Finding himself or his spirit animal or doing yoga. I don't care. Something between a spiritual journey and a mental breakdown. We can develop that into early retirement somewhere down the road." He turned to Fury. "Technically, you need to agree to back us up. But if you want access to anymore of my tech-"

Fury raised a hand to forestall him. "Stark, you don't have to force my hand. I'll do it."

"Good." Tony turned back to the others. "So, you're moving back in." It was very unclear whether it was a statement or a question.

"Tony…" said Steve slowly.

"Seriously Steve? You? I get that you hate Hydra. But I'd have thought you of all people would understand taking one for the team."

"It's not that." Steve's defensive posture had gone up several notches. "I'm still looking for Bucky…and I'm not going to stop."

Bruce sighed. Tony's parents. One bit of the Hydra puzzle that Bruce hadn't even gotten close to touching on with him. He knew that was a deep wound that Tony himself probably stayed far away from.

There was a long silence. Tony and Steve staring each other down.

"Fine," said Tony at last, in short clipped tones. "But I don't want to hear about it. Sounds like a deal we can both live with. If you find him…"There was an unreadable war of emotions on his face then he shut them down. "We reevaluate where we both stand." Steve seemed to hesitate. "It's the best either one of us is going to get here Cap."

Steve nodded. "All right."

Bruce hadn't realized he was holding his breath until this moment, when he let it out in relief. Tony clapped his hands together. "So everyone is moving back in. Like I said: we all have lives, I don't expect more than half your time. But I do expect that."

The elevator doors opened for a third time and Pepper entered the common room, flashing everyone a smile.

"Ah Pepper. She technically has better things to do these days than worry about my press, but under the circumstances she's agreed to help out and put us all through our paces so we know exactly how tomorrow is going to go down. Especially since you all haven't had as much experience as I have."

"It's good to see everyone again," said Pepper. She started to hand out folders with a printed out statement and a press guide. Once done she stepped into the middle of the room. There was an alien prince there, a super soldier, two master spies, a Hulk, and a self-described genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist. But Pepper Potts easily took complete command of the room.

* * *

Clint was first conscious of restfulness. When he opened his eyes, it was still to a slightly dizzy world, but he was aware of having had a thoroughly deep slumber. He might still be a little tried, but the bone deep exhaustion he last remembered was gone.

A little slowly, more as a test to see how his body would react, he sat up. And a number of things surprised him. The first was that, while his body ached, it did not protest to the degree he had expected nor did it send his head swimming. There was a slight tilt of vertigo and then the world held steady. Secondly, he was not on the hard floor of his cell. He was on a mattress. It was dirty and lumpy but a mattress none the less. Lastly, he was not in fact in his cell at all. He was in a small room with a window that looked out over an overgrown wilderness of a backyard. There was a rusty, broken swing back there and what appeared to have been a shed once, with half of it smashed in.

For several minutes he sat there, trying to place how he'd gotten here. His brain was still waking up and it took a little while for his last memories to come into focus. Yes, Strucker, that was right, and then he'd been put into the chair. He could still remember Strucker's threats of brain damage ringing in his ears, try as he might to block them out.

He remembered the blast of pain…had there been something after that? Some sort of sound that he'd barely registered over the sound of his own screams and his body's concentration on what was being done to it?

And then…barely, a wisp of memory much like a half-forgotten dream floated by him…Wanda's face leaning over him and then a sense of peace and calm…

He stood. For a second his vision blurred a little but it was only for a moment. He did feel weak and his limbs heavy but he couldn't deny it was an improvement over how he'd felt when he'd last woken up.

Taking a tentative careful first step, and then a more confident second, he made his way towards the door.

When he opened it, he found himself in what appeared to have once been a living room. There was an old, moldy couch, pieces of wood that might once have been a coffee table, and a few chairs. Sitting in one of the sturdier of these was Wanda, her hand was up and she was absently twining red energy around her fingertips. Pietro was sitting on the ground, his back to the wall, feet crossed in front of him, flipping through an old magazine with evident signs of boredom.

As he stepped into the room, Wanda looked up and there was an unmistakable expression of relief on her face. "You're awake."

"Yeah. I think so." He stepped into the room, he stumbled a little. There was a woosh and Pietro was at his side.

"Are you alright to walk?"

Clint had tensed at the familiar sound that on previous occasions had led to his being cuffed and handed over to the guards but at the question he relaxed. "Yeah. A bit shaky on the legs but I can manage. Thanks." He made his way towards the couch.

Wanda stood. "I wouldn't sit there. We saw a rat yesterday. Here. This chair is safe enough."

Clint lowered himself into it. His legs could hold him but it still felt good to be off them again. He felt weak, as if he'd been sick and was only just getting over it.

"It's not surprising you're feeling weak," said Pietro. "You've been asleep for two days."

"I have?" Clint blinked in surprise.

"Yes. I was afraid I'd…overdone it," said Wanda, a brief flash of what might have been guilt flashing across her face, or was it something else? Fear?

"Overdone it? Overdone what?"

Wanda shifted, taking on a slightly defensive stance but her voice, when she spoke, was defiant. "We had to get you out of there and your body was reacting badly to the chair. I…calmed you and put you to sleep."

Clint took this in. "With your powers?"

"Yes."

His first instinct was anger, but he knew that anger was a mask for his fear. The fear that came at the idea of someone else in his own head. And he owed these two. He might not want Wanda getting into his mind again, but they'd taken a leap of faith when they got him out of Hydra, so he could return that faith in them and in Wanda.

"Thank you," he said. "For getting me out of there."

The defensive posture Wanda had taken, relaxed. "You were right," she said seriously. "We had to make a choice."

"Thank you for making the right one. I know that wasn't easy. Believe me." He sunk back into the chair and for a moment thought he might just fall right back asleep here.

"How are you feeling? Other than weak?" asked Wanda.

"I think I'm going to be all right. Thanks to the two of you."

"You should eat something," said Pietro, "It should help." He left the room and came back soon holding a plate of food. "Here." He handed it to Clint.. It was very simple fair, and Clint, despite not having eaten in a couple of days found he had absolutely no appetite, but the gesture was appreciated so he took it and tried to eat.

After he started his stomach seemed to catch up to his brain and he was suddenly ravenous.

The siblings sat and waited as he ate, and once done he set the plate on the floor. He had to admit, he did feel better. "Thanks again. So, where are we exactly?"

"A bombed out village on the border of Sokovia," said Wanda. "One of the many casualties of our various civil wars. This area is littered with abandoned villages. We weren't sure where else to take you. The city seemed too risky, if Strucker followed. And we didn't have anywhere to go anyways. So." She shrugged a shoulder and looked around. "It's not pleasant, but it at least offers some shelter."

"I've been worse places," said Clint, looking around as well. "I'm not sure I'd recommend it to my friends, if I had any left, but I ain't complaining." He grinned. There was a pause of surprise and then Wanda gave a small laugh.

"We're good to stay awhile," said Pietro. "I uh, 'borrowed' some food from a town, about an hour away."

"An hour away for a normal person or an hour away for you?"

Pietro grinned. "An hour away for me. So we can hide out here, with supplies, until you're recovered. Then you can…leave."

"And you two?"

Pietro shrugged.

Clint opened his mouth to press the point and then stopped. He had felt something nagging in the back of his mind for the last few minutes, something he'd been forgetting, and he'd suddenly remembered what it was. He sat up straighter. "The scepter."

"What?"

"I don't suppose during the rescue, which again thank you for that I'm not complaining, you two managed to retrieve the scepter did you?"

"No," said Pietro and he didn't sound particularly interested .

"Right, then I need to go back to the base." Clint stood, his body reminded him now was not the time, and he sat back down again and swore.

"You can't be serious. Walking from one room to another wiped you out. You'd never stand a chance."

"Well, maybe give it a day," Clint agreed ruefully. "But I need to go back. And soon. I can't risk them moving base. Strucker can't be allowed to keep that scepter. It's too powerful and too dangerous in his hands."

"You barely got out of there alive after your first attempt," argued Wanda.

"Hey this time I won't have you two to deal with."

"And they'll also be more alert. You're crazy."

"I'll figure something out." He smiled. "Always do."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "You're going to get yourself killed." He huffed. "We'll go with you."

Clint blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. But only because you're clearly not capable of looking after yourself old man."

"Wait until I'm feeling more the thing and I'll show you how old I really am."

Pietro rolled his eyes.

"Pietro is right," said Wanda with a huff. "You need help if you're going back there. We're didn't save you just to let you get yourself killed within a week."

Clint smiled. "Thanks. Seems I'm saying that a lot to you two today."

Pietro sat back down to return to his magazine. Wanda joined him on the floor. Clint leaned back in his chair and, through lowered lids, eyed them thoughtfully. The two might put on an act of exasperation at having to help him return to the base, or only worried he was going to get himself killed, but he noticed they appeared just a shade more relaxed than they had been ten minutes ago.

_The city seemed too risky, if Strucker followed. And we didn't have anywhere to go anyways…_

He didn't doubt he owed these two his life. More in fact for he also owed them for saving him before Strucker broke him. Hydra wasn't much, but it had been what they had. And they'd sacrificed it to do the right thing. Something he'd never done and he'd had a whole lot more waiting for him on the other side to tempt him. And now they had nothing. So lost, with nowhere to go, that just taking on the job of helping him retrieve the scepter, a job that would take a couple of days at most, gave them some relief.

_We didn't have anywhere to go anyways…_

Wanda was reading over Pietro's shoulder. She whispered something and he chuckled.

Clint smiled. At least they had each other. And he swore to himself that he wasn't going to abandon them in this torn up country or allow them to be snapped up by some other organization little better than Hydra. They were powerful. It was possible they didn't even know the extent of their powers. Some would view them as a threat. Some would view them as assets. But right now, watching them joking together, seated on the floor, all he saw was a couple of lost kids.


	17. Chapter 17: Fighting

It was close to midnight and Bruce couldn't sleep. The past couple of days had been tense and exhausting. He was avoiding the internet and all news outlets, even going so far as asking Jarvis to block WiFi to his cell phone for the next forty-eight hours and on no condition to reinstate it, even if he should beg. Not that he had.

The story about Clint had blown up fast. Which wasn't surprising. What had been surprising to Bruce were the reactions. Even at his most hurt over the betrayal, Bruce hadn't thought half the vile things most of the news outlets starting saying about the man. They were crucifying him and most of them did it with a good deal of glee. They probably felt the harder they went the better the story.

As the news had broken, with most of the Avengers gathered in the common room (Nat had been the only one absent, having retreated to the gym) and the news station had picked it up and run with it, Bruce had begun to grow a bit green. He'd had to beat a hasty retreat. Hulk smashing up Avengers tower and who now how much of Manhattan was not likely to help their cause. Tony had found him in lab forty minutes later. Stark had placed a hand shoulder, but hadn't said anything, to which Bruce was glad. The two had worked together in silence for half the night.

The next morning had been Tony's press conference. They'd all played their parts, coached so expertly by Pepper, quite well. Stark had of course taken lead, the rest of them were just there as confirmation of his story. Some of the questions thrown to Stark had made Bruce's already shimmering rage start to bubble again, but he'd managed to keep a lid on it.

Since then...articles and reporting on the story had been more split. There were still plenty of people ready to drag Clint through the mud, news anchors willing to kill ten minutes of air time bashing him, politicians hoping that calling for his head would advance their standing with voters, but there was at least a counter movement as well. Not that that couldn't be exhausting too. Bruce had seen one heated debate on TV, where a pundit had argued that Barton was not the only Avenger with a murky past as well, there'd been shots of the Hulk, conversations about the past of Stark Industries…that was when Bruce decided it was time to take a step back from the news.

Both Bruce and Thor and been inclined to be dismayed by the reactions but Pepper seemed to think it was going well, so Bruce would trust her opinion.

"People aren't going to be okay with it overnight," she'd assured him when he looked at her like she'd gone nuts after she'd made that announcement, "but the Avengers have a lot of good will built up and all polls are showing that this has not changed the vast majority of people's opinion of them. And media programs are split 57 percent in our favor which is better than I'd expected at this point. And we've already gotten unofficial agreement from 17 countries out of 28 where we know Clint was involved in Hydra missions, not to attempt to press charges or call for extradition. This is going really well."

Nor was the press and fallout the only strain at the moment. Just being in tower right now was exhausting. It had been quiet when it was just him, Tony, and Pepper. You would have thought three additional people would have livened things up. Instead the strain was so palpable that Bruce thought it was a wonder no one had snapped yet.

Tony was back to barely leaving his lab when he was at the tower, which wasn't often as he and Pepper dealt with the media storm. Steve was polite to everyone and yet so clearly detached. Nat barely said two words to anyone. Thor was the only one acting normal. Or at least, not exactly normal, he was different than before, a little more somber perhaps, but it seemed real and he did not hesitate to engage with the others and Bruce appreciated that.

Stepping into the common room now, Bruce was heading over to the bar when through the glass doors between here and the roof, he saw the hint of a figure outside. He moved over to the sliding doors and stepped out. Nat tilted her head just a fraction, an indication that she had heard him but beyond that she made no movement. She was seated at the edge, cross-legged, a beer on one hand, looking out over the city.

Bruce hesitated a few moments. Nat had made it clear to him, and to everyone else, that she wanted to be left alone. But then again how was that really working out for her? She looked better than she had at Tony's Avenger meeting, less exhausted, but certainly still just as strained. So Bruce came forward.

"Hey."

She glanced up and then looked back out over the city.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

"Doesn't look like it matters." She took a swig of her beer.

He rolled his eyes and gave a snort of laughter. "Really Nat? Come on. What's up?"

She looked at him coolly. "Excuse me?"

"You've barely said two words to anyone since you've been back. What's going on with you?"

"The same thing that's going on with everyone one else on this 'team', or whatever it is anymore."

He thought about it. "No, I don't think that's true. We lost a teammate and a friend….but I think you lost something more than that. And I think you need to talk about it."

Her shoulders tensed.

"Come on Nat. Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk."

"Well then what do you want to do?"

She shrugged.

"…Clint meant a lot to you," he said tentatively.

"I _don't_ want to talk about Clint."

He stared out across the city. "Look Nat, I understand wanting to hide: from your problems, from people, from the past, from the future…from yourself. Especially from yourself. I tried to hide. I was good at it. I made an art form of it. And you were the one who showed up and proved to me you can't hide forever. You can keep running from the issues but sooner or later they're going to catch up with you."

Nat let out a deep, tired, boned shatteringly exhausted breath and leaned back. He glanced towards her and he saw that her eyes were closed. He waited. He thought she would speak. He was right.

Eventually.

It took several long minutes.

"Clint gave me everything," she said softly.

"You loved him?"

Her eyes flew open and she looked at him. He was surprised to see a hint of an amused smiled play across her face. "Not the way you mean that question." The smile was gone the next instant. "He rescued me. My childhood, my life after that, it was covered in blood. He was supposed to kill me and instead he saved me, recruited me for Shield. Showed me that there was another way. A better way. And now I know it was all a lie. Everything he said to me. Everything he made me believe. I owed him, I believed him. He held my faith…and now…"

Bruce nodded. "Losing your heroes is one of the hardest things to go through. Then again, forgetting they were human in the first place, is our mistake not theirs."

Nat stared out over the city. "So you think I'm the fool for ever believing?"

"No. But I think at some point you need to find something to believe in beyond one man. And I think deep down you already have. You let Clint go. If he was all you held to you'd have gone with him. But you didn't. You're staying here and you're fighting."

"It doesn't feel like fighting."

"Yeah, the hard fights often feel like being pummeled and bashed. But that's why they're fights."

She sighed. "Pummeled and bashed: that sounds like a pretty good description of my life."

"Which is probably why you're the strongest woman I know."

She turned to him, the two stared at one another for a long moment and then she nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

Clint stood in what a week ago had been the server room of Strucker's base and swore. What hadn't been removed was destroyed beyond either repair or use. The same as everything else in this complex.

He _should_ have come sooner. He shouldn't have been so weak as to need time. He swore again and punched out, ramming his fist into a burnt out hunk of metal that had once been a server bank.

There was the woosh of Petro's speed and the man came into the room.

"Nothing. The whole building is empty," Pietro reported.

"I don't suppose there's any computers left? Papers? Anything?'

"No. What's been left has been burnt. Even…even the chair is destroyed."

Clint shrugged. Well at least that was a plus. He'd had a mind to tear it to pieces himself.

But he'd failed. A sweeping sense of how badly he failed washed over him. The scepter had been here, within his grasp and now it was gone, who knew where. He realized, some small part of him had held an image, buried deep away, that retrieving this scepter, presenting it to Fury, would somehow make things right again, put things back the way they'd once been.

Then again, that image of what they'd once been had never been real.

He'd never been the hero. It was a lie. A lie he'd tried so hard to believe in himself near the end.

Clint closed his eyes, and breathed, the dust filling his nostrils as an overwhelming sense of loss and futility swept over him.

There were footsteps and Wanda entered the room.

"Now what?" she asked. "If the scepter is gone from here, how do we find it?"

His eyes flew open and he stared at the twins, who stared back at him, expectant. Not hopeful, for hope implied there was doubt that was being rejected. No. These two had a faith in him that was beyond hope. It was certain. They _knew_. They might be wrong. But they thought they knew.

For a moment that trust sent him even deeper into the black hole of doubt, futility, and desperation.

Then he clinched his fist and set his jaw.

He'd failed Shield, he'd failed the Avengers, he'd failed Nat, he'd failed Laura, he'd failed his own children. And here was another chance to fail.

He wasn't going to take it. No matter how easy life made it to do so.

"We hunt Strucker down. We find the scepter. And we get it back."

"Do you know where he might have taken it?" asked Pietro.

"No. But I have a friend who might."


	18. Chapter 18: A Friend

Brock aimed down the sights of the handgun, checked the loading mechanism, and then placed it back on the bed next to three other guns. He pulled the weapon's case out from under the bed and began to pack the guns into it.

There was a knock on the motel room door and he froze. His contact wasn't supposed to be here for another five hours?

Picking back up the handgun he approached the door and looked through the peephole. He relaxed.

Holstering the weapon, he opened the door and said, a tough dryly, "Seriously Barton, you just can't get enough of my company?"

"I always was drawn to your sparkling personality."

Brock stepped aside to let him in and moved back towards the bed to continue packing the guns.

Clint glanced towards the duffel bag on the other bed. "Going somewhere?"

Brock shrugged. "Got a job."

Clint propped his shoulder against the wall. "Where?"

"Africa. Some military coup."

"Mercenary work?"

"Yeah, what else? It's not exactly like I have a skill set in graphic design or plumbing."

Clint frowned. There was a sharp edge to Brock's voice that hadn't been there at their last meeting. "Is something wrong?"

"No. It's just time I get out of this damn motel and do something."

"When do you leave?"

"This afternoon."

"Looks like I caught you just in time then."

"Lucky me." Brock packed the last weapon and shut the case. He turned to Clint. "So what do you want?"

"Ran into some...complications, in Sokovia. Strucker got away with the scepter. But he was doing experiments with it and I think he's going to want to continue. Which means he's going to want another base. Figure he's going to go for another off book one. I was hoping you might have an idea where he'd head or at very least some places I can check?"

Brock snorted. "If he's left Sokovia, I haven't got a clue. Those bases were off book for a reason. And who knows. You may have already killed anyone who does know. Wouldn't that be ironic? I only knew about the Sokovia base because I delivered the scepter. Hydra was clever about making sure very few people knew more than they had to. Typically if you weren't assigned to those bases long term, you didn't even know they existed."

"You must have an idea though. If not where than who would know."

Brock rolled his eyes. "I don't even know whose still alive. Even the people at the top, Pierce for instance, wouldn't know where every single base was located. I'm not saying you can't find Strucker. You might get lucky. But it ain't going to be easy."

"There's got to be something, someway...that scepter is dangerous and powerful. In the wrong hands, it could cause a lot of damage. There has to be a way to find the bases, or where Strucker might go."

"And I'm telling you there's not. Finding even one base is going to take time. The only person who was ever allowed inside most of them, was the one person Hydra could be sure would never remember it."

"What? Who-," Clint stopped. "The Asset."

"Yeah. The Asset. So, sorry to disappoint you, but you're out of luck. And if that's everything-"

"You didn't disappoint me," said Clint, straightening. "You gave me exactly what I needed."

"What? The _Asset_? Clint are you crazy or just purely suicidal? Other than the fact he will kill you on sight, he doesn't remember anything. Hydra made sure of that with the chair."

"There's got to be some part of him that's not wiped. Or else he wouldn't be on the run. He'd be with Hydra."

Brock rolled his eyes. "A few fragments of memories, maybe. Jostled free by Captain bloody America. That is a very, _very _long way from being able to get useful Intel out of him even _if_ he didn't kill you before you got one word out."

Clint remembered being in that chair, and Wanda reaching for him, inside his head, calm and peace washing over him. What else could she do in there? "I might have an idea. A way to help him jostle the memories a bit more."

Brock stared at him incredulously. "You can't actually intend to go after him. How many ways do I have to tell you that he will tear you apart?"

"You're the one who just told me there's no other way to track down Strucker."

"So get a clue and drop it."

"I can't do that."

Brock took a step forward, fist clenching and then stopped, instead throwing his hands up. "Fine. You want to get yourself killed, be my guest. Who knows, with your bloody luck, you might even survive the encounter, no matter how little you deserve to."

"Thanks," Clint grinned, "but my odds are a little better than you might think. I won't be going after him alone."

Brock stared. "The Avengers?"

Clint's smile vanished. "No. But I've found some friends."

Brock shook his head. "Of course you have. Clint Barton always makes friends wherever he goes, doesn't he? I forgot."

"I can't help but feel that I've done something to tick you off? What I could have done between now and my last visit, I'm not sure though."

"You want to know what I'm ticked at? Why I'm bloody furious at you and the rest of this damn world." Brock grabbed a days old paper and shoved into Clint's hand. "Look at that."

Clint frowned and stared down. The picture grabbed his attention first. It was the Avengers. All of them, at a press conference, with a picture of himself inserted into the corner. And then he took in the headline: _Clint Barton: The Triple _Agent. Quickly, he read the opening paragraph. It staggered him. He stared up at Brock.

"Yeah. Your precious heroes," said Brock. "You stab them in the back. You work for the very people that tried, and got this close, to killing every last one of them, and they, _they_ go in front of the entire world and they lie for you without missing a beat. We both know you were never working for Fury. You never told him or anyone else about Hydra. But _you_, you get away it. You don't get a building falling on you and your face turned into this. No. _You_ get your back covered for you. You get countries saying they won't press charges and people on international TV defending you. You get to keep your face, and knowing you, you probably get the girl too don't you? Right? You do have Laura stashed away somewhere? Yeah." Brock shook his head. "And you know what really, _really_ gets me angry about the whole thing? You didn't even believe in what we were doing. And yet somehow, that makes you the good guy. You killed and maimed and tortured because you were scared of the consequences if you stopped. I did it because Hydra was right."

"No. They weren't. Hydra wanted power."

"Hydra wanted _order_."

"At what cost?"

"At any cost! Look around at this world Clint. People are dumb. People are worse than dumb. They tear themselves apart because they can. They'll never listen to reason. The only thing they will listen to is _pain_. _Order comes with pain_."

Clint studied him for a long, several seconds. The man's left hand was shaking, he was breathing heavily. Clint's eyes flicked to the bedside table, noticed the tube of pain killers, and flicked his eyes back to Brock. He tossed the paper onto the nearby side table. "You're right. It's not fair all the things I got to walk away with still intact in my life. I don't deserve to have the Avengers lie for me. And you're right that I was a coward and that doesn't make me the good guy. I should have done something. And I didn't and I have to live with that for the rest of my life. If you really believe what you say, if you really believed in Hydra…I envy you. Because I have to wake up and live everyday with the knowledge that I betrayed everything I believe in…because I was weak. If I could trade places with you Brock, trade the deals we got, I would do it in a heartbeat. Because there are some days that waking up with this guilt is so damn hard I don't think I can do it. But I don't get a choice. I have to live with it. And I have to live with something else too. I'm sorry. I…let down the Avengers. But I guess I also let down some people in Hydra. I am sorry that I let you down." He paused. "Come with me."

Brock blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You know the Asset a lot a better than I do. I had one mission with him my entire time at Hydra. You worked with him a lot more often. You'll know how he thinks. How he's likely to hide. Help me."

Brock actually laughed. "Your idea of an apology is to help get me killed along with you?"

"I don't think it's going to come to that."

"Well like you said: you don't know the Asset like I do."

"And like _I _said, we wouldn't be doing this alone. I have some people who I think might just tip the scales in our favor."

"Thanks. But I have a job lined up. One that actually pays and I might live to the end of?"

"You really want to fight for money?"

Brock shrugged. "Why not?"

"Wouldn't you rather having something to fight for?"

"Fight for what? Keeping the scepter out of Strucker's hands? Not exactly a cause close to my heart."

Clint smiled. "How about for a friend?"


	19. Chapter 19: Trust

Laughter greeted Clint and Brock as they entered the safe house. Wanda turned at the sound of their footsteps, the laughter still in her eyes, a smile still on her face.

"You're back."

"Whose that?" asked Pietro, nodding suspiciously towards Brock.

"Hey, this is Brock Rumlow. He's going to help us."

Wanda's gaze flickered to Brock and then back to Clint, who was thankful that Wanda and Pietro had seen enough in their lives that they seemed disinclined to stare at Brock's scares. He could feel Brock beside him, tense and on edge.

Brock set his bag on the floor and folded his arms. "Please tell me these two kids are not your secret plan for stopping the Asset from killing us?"

Wanda's eyes snapped back to him. Next to her Pietro muttered something to her. She smiled and then, in a flash her hand shot up. A blast of red energy sent Brock backwards. He stumbled and would have fallen but in a whoosh Pietro was beside him, catching him, and in another whoosh he was back beside Wanda.

Clint shrugged. "There's more to these two than meets the eye."

"I can see that," said Brock.

"This is Wanda, and Pietro."

"And uh, how do they do what they just do?"

"What they just did is why we need to get the scepter back."

"And he is going to help us find it?" asked Pietro, nodding to Brock.

"Kind of. He's suggested someone who should know some bases where Strucker might have gone to. The Winter Soldier."

"Who is that?" asked Wanda.

"A heavily trained Hydra assassin…ex-Hydra assassin."

"Ex, whose not going to want to go back," said Brock, taking a seat in an armchair. "And odds are that's what he'll think we're doing there. If we can track him down in the first place," he added dampingly.

"You know his training. If anyone can find him, it's you."

Brock shrugged. "He'll still clap eyes on us and assume we're there to take him back and even with these two, he's going to fight like mad. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"You're going not going to like it."

"Try me."

"You could always reactivate the programming instead."

"What do you mean?"

"There's words. It's supposed to retrigger his obedience, part of his mental reconditioning."

Clint stared for several moments. "We're not using that on him. The guy is a victim. We're not making it worse."

"I don't you, you wouldn't like it. So how exactly _do _you plan to get through to him then? I mean with wonder pair here you might be able to beat him in a fight. I say might. But he's still not going to trust us and he still doesn't remember what you want him to tell you."

"That's where I'm hoping Wanda comes in." Clint turned to her. "You reached into my mind and you calmed me down and then you put me to sleep."

"Yes?"

"What else can you do inside a person's head?"

She suddenly looked nervous. "What do you need?"

"There's a man whose memories have been…not wiped. We don't think. Not completely at any rate. But repressed. I don't just want to access his memories. I want to help him. If there are words in his head that Hydra can use against him, maybe we can do something about that too."

"And while we're at it, we'll end world hunger, cure cancer, and bring world peace," said Brock.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Not helping."

"You're the one that is losing sight of your own mission. Do you want the scepter or do you want to help the Asset?"

"I want to do both. He's been used by enough people. We're not adding our names to that list." He turned back to Wanda. "What can you do?"

"I…don't know." She wrapped her arms around herself. "That's not something I've really…explored very thoroughly. Getting too deep into someone else's mind…I haven't had a lot of practice. I can make some visions but…repressed memories, brainwashing…I don't know. I could…hurt someone."

Internally, Clint was screaming at himself not to say the words that were already on the tip of his tongue. But there was a mission to complete. And deep down he also knew it was more than a mission. He had to prove Fury's trust in him, and helping Barnes…Steve would want that…

"Then you practice on me."

She stared at him. "No."

"You get into my head; see how deep you can go."

"I could hurt you."

"You won't."

"You don't know that!"

"I trust you."

* * *

Tony stepped out of the elevator and into the common room, and then caught up short. He hadn't expected to find only Steve here and for a moment he considered turning around and heading back down to the lab. But two things circumstances made him pause.

One, Steve was in a suit and tie, and second, Steve was taking a clear plastic box out of the fridge and inside the box was what was unmistakably a corsage.

"Do you have a date?" he asked, curiosity winning out over the urge to leave.

Steve jumped. "Tony! I didn't hear you come in."

"Do you have a date?"

"Uh, yeah."

"And you bought her a corsage."

"Yeah?" Steve looked down at it with a frown. Tony's lips twitched. Steve must have notice because he asked, "Is there a reason why not?"

"Unless you're taking her to her homecoming dance, which if you are we have a whole other issue, people haven't really done that in several decades."

"Oh." Steve let out a long, deflated sigh.

"Where did you find one anyways?"

"I didn't. I asked Jarvis to order it."

"And he didn't tell me. What a traitor. Who's the girl?"

"Sharon Carter. She's, uh, the agent Fury assigned to keep an eye on me back in Washington. She helped us stop Project Insight."

"Carter? Well there's a coincidence of a name."

"Actually…it's not just a coincidence," said Steve, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "She's uh…Peggy's niece."

The two men stared at each other for a long minute and then both, broke into uncontrolled laughter, though Steve's was a bit more sheepish. Tony came over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

"Wow," he said, still chuckling. "You really do have a type don't you."

He leaned back against the counter, relaxed, and grinned at Steve.

Steve shook his head. "I have no idea what I'm doing." He dropped the flowers onto the counter. "I haven't been on a date since the 1940's."

"Hey," said Tony, picking back up the corsage box, "I bet the Leave it to Beaver Shtick will work with any woman who said yes to a date with you."

"I don't get that reference."

"You should. I'm willing to bet that show would be right up your alley. But what I'm trying to say is, she'll probably like the flowers. She'll think it corny and cute and probably end up swept off her feet." He handed the box back to Steve. "What's the date plans?"

"Taking her to dinner. There's a place in Brooklyn that's been open since I was a kid. I went there once with B-…a friend. Normally though, couldn't afford it. But…I remember the food being great. I wanted to see if it still was. See the old neighborhood."

Tony's curiosity peaked. "Couldn't afford it?"

"I grew up pretty poor, Tony."

"How poor?"

Steve shrugged. "I used to wear newspapers in my shoes?"

Tony contemplated this, took a swig of his drink, and said, "That is incredibly depressing and I am buying you more shoes tomorrow."

Steve laughed. "Thank you Tony, but I have enough shoes now."

"Pepper would have told me you can't fix everything with money."

"She'd have been right….but you can fix shoes with it."

Tony chuckled, and then said more soberly: "I guess we haven't really talked about your childhood very much."

"It's not like we've talked much about yours either."

"No. I guess not." Tony set the drink down. "Must have been hard though, growing up like that."

"I had a couple of good people in my life. My mom. And-" Steve cut off sharply.

"Barnes," Tony finished for him.

Steve let out a deep sigh. "Yeah. Barnes."

There was a long, still silence. Tony was the one who finally broke the silence. "You don't want to be late for your date."

"Oh…right. Yeah."

"How are you getting there?"

"Jarvis is going to call me a cab."

"Forget the cab. Happy's on duty tonight. He'll drive you in the limo."

"That's not necessary."

"Trust me on this. Picking up a girl in a limo: always a great first move. Happy will be ready by the time you reach the garage."

"Thanks Tony."

"No problem."

* * *

There was a murmur of voices coming from the living room as Clint washed his hands in the bathroom sink. His hands were shaking. In another minute he'd have to go back out there, and he couldn't allow Wanda to see his fear. But the thought of allowing someone into his head…

He knew, intellectually he knew, he could trust her. She couldn't abuse what he was offering her. She wouldn't use and twist and turn him like Loki, even if that was within her capabilities. And who knew, it might be. But knowing he was safe in her hands was a long way from feeling it.

Clint clinched his fists as the water poured over them and focused on breathing, deep in, deep out.

_You have to do this, she needs to practice, she needs to know what she can do. Then we can find Barnes. We can help him. He can tell us where the bases are. He'll go back to Steve and we get the scepter for Fury. You have to do this. You owe this to them._

He raised his head and stared into the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. But then he hadn't liked what he'd seen for a long time. He shook his head, trying to shake away the thoughts creeping through it, but there was still something twisted in his gut. Terror? Trauma? Who knew. And it didn't matter.

Brock was right. He didn't deserve all he'd gotten away with.

So letting Wanda into his head to help Fury, to help Steve, to help Barnes, well, it was far less than he deserved.

He shut off the water, stretched, and willed his hands to still.


	20. Chapter 20: Who You Really Are

Clint and Wanda stood alone together in one of the bedrooms, the door shut. He was facing her and could read the trepidation clear as day on her face. He gave her a reassuring smile. One that did not at all mirror the tense knot in his stomach.

"Are...you sure about this?" she asked.

_No._

"Yes. You can do this, Wanda. You have control of your powers."

She nodded and raised her hands, holding them about an inch away from either side of his head. Red tendrils of energy seeped from her fingers and wrapped around him...

_He was on a rooftop, looking out over New York, shooting arrows as the Chitauri poured out from the portal overhead._

_Now he was on the scaffolding, bow raised, watching as Thor approached the hammer, waiting for Coulson to give the order..._

Go deeper, _he thought. He could feel a presence somewhere in the back of his head acknowledge his order and dive down._

_"Daddy!" Lila was running towards him from the barn. He caught her in his arms as she reached the porch, turning to Laura with a grin on his face._

_No, not this, this was private, this was secret, this was never supposed to be known. He'd even kept this from Loki._ No! No! No! Get out! Get out!

He was suddenly back in the safe house bedroom, Wanda backing away from him quickly.

"I'm sorry!" She said, "I didn't mean- I'm sorry."

He blinked at her, his mind reeling for a moment, then he shook his head. "No, that's...that's all right. It was an automatic reaction on my part." He could still feel his heartbeat racing and the panic throbbing. Laura and the kids, keeping them secret, that was essential. His brain was demanding to know how long had he actually known Wanda? How far could he actually trust her? But he shoved that thought away. "There are people who if they knew about my family...would kill them. I said I trusted you Wanda...and I am trusting you with them, with the knowledge that they are out there. With the knowledge that they exist."

She nodded. "I will not let you down. The secret remains between me and you. Not even Pietro will hear it from me." He looked at her and suspected this was probably the very first secret she'd ever kept from her brother. It probably hurt her to do. But the very fact of that enabled him to accept and believe her promise.

He nodded. "Then let's go again."

* * *

Bruce glanced up from the book he was reading as the glass door to the roof slid open and Thor stepped inside. He was holding a phone, which he now set down on a side table. He looked gloomier than Bruce had seen him since everyone had moved back into the tower.

"Is everything okay with Jane?" Bruce asked.

Thor nodded. "Oh yes. She is well. I look forward to seeing her next week."

"Good…so are you okay then?"

"I am fine." Thor started to walk across the room and then stopped, thought a moment, and turned back to Bruce. "Actually that was a lie. And Jane has told me it is important to be honest about my feelings. The truth is today is…a difficult day for me."

"Why?"

"Today would be Loki's birthday."

"Oooh." Tony, Nat, now Thor. Bruce wondered idly why he was the one being stuck with all these heart to hearts. With a wry humor, he considered that he had probably never missed Clint more.

"I do not expect you to sympathize," said Thor quickly, "I understand that you knew my brother only as the man who attacked your world and took lives. And perhaps that is how I should see him as well. But I do not. And I grieve for him."

Bruce softened. He might be tired from the emotional strain of the past weeks, but he couldn't honestly begrudge Thor his sympathy. Not the kind, big hearted, and deeply honorably man he had grown to know. "No. Thor, I get it. He was family."

Thor sighed. "Yes. That is what Jane says. It is hard though…there is no one left who…feels as I do. If my mother were still alive, I would return to Asgard, and we could grieve together. But as it is, there would be no one. My father…" He shook his head. "My own relationship with him is difficult at the moment, having rejected the throne, and I do not know for a fact if he would mourn Loki as I do. Loki pushed him very far. And yet the fact that I find myself doubting my father's grief, in turn tells me that there was some truth in Loki's resentments. As for our friends, Sif and the Warriors Three, I see now they never were truly his friends. They would be glad to see me but they would not understand how I feel, after everything he had done. I would find it impossible to explain. And yet I know how I feel. And Jane understands. Better than I do sometimes. For there are times I remember he tried to kill me. And yet I grieve."

Bruce fiddled with the edge of his book, bending and unbending the corner of the page, before shutting it and setting it aside. "There's a well known Earth poet named Shakespeare. And one of the most famous lines he wrote was: 'Love is not love which alters it when alteration finds'. You loved your brother. That doesn't fade away lightly." _If it did, _he thought, _we'd probably have all handled Clint's betrayal a great deal more philosophically._

"No. I suppose not. And neither does the guilt."

"The guilt?"

"I've been wondering, if I'd been a little less self-centered in the past, if I'd seen my brother as he truly was, his pain, if I might have prevented his loss as well as the damage that occurred on this world and on my own."

"Thor," said Bruce, leaning forward, "you can't blame yourself for what Loki decided to do."

"But I can blame myself for what I did not do."

Bruce stared at him, feeling at an utter loss to know what to say.

"I'm sorry," said Thor, "I don't mean to burden you."

"No. Not it's good to talk about these things. And it's good to know there's one Avenger who doesn't keep it all bottled up. Between Nat, Steve, and Tony, this tower sometimes feels like it's about to explode under all the pressure of internalized silence. Look, Thor, this is grief. When we lose people we love we want to blame something. Them sometimes, the world, God, and sometimes ourselves. Maybe you made mistakes in your relationship with your brother, but he made them too, your parents made them, heck it sounds like even your friends made them. You can go mad with regret and trying to figure out what could have been done differently. At the end of the day, you can't change the past. And Loki sacrificed himself to save your life. He also loved you, despite whatever was between you."

Thor tilted his head to one side. "Like your poet says."

"Yeah. Come to think of it. I guess that quote works both ways. You've lost…so much Thor. And I'm really sorry if we haven't recognized how hard this time has to be for you. But if there's one thing loss can give us if we choose to take it, it's an appreciation of those still in our lives."

"And I do appreciate it." Thor smiled a little sadly. "I know it's not easy for the others, and I know not everyone was entirely eager to do so, but…I am glad we are all under one roof again."

"Me too. Me too."

* * *

_"Mr. Barton…you have a chance to be a part of something bigger here. Something important. You have a chance to make the world a better place. A safer place. _You, _you can make the sacrifices so that other people live in safety. You can be a hero."_

_"What do I have to do?"_

_"Join Hydra. Help us."_

Deeper.

_He was standing, looking out across the common room, at the Avengers, at Fury. He could see Nat, fighting so desperately to reject what Fury had just shown her, fighting to keep her faith in him…_

_He was at the bar of the common room, pouring himself a drink, raising the glass… "Hail Hydra." The words were ash in his mouth. He saw Nat flinch. He couldn't look the others in the eye. He couldn't bear to face what he'd done. He could feel all the walls he'd built around each fragment of his life, splitting...giving way…_

Deeper. Anywhere else but this. Anywhere else had to be better than this.

_And he was at the bunker. The Tesseract going haywire. Loki grabbing his wrist, the point of the scepter touching his chest…_

_No, not this again. He couldn't lose control. He couldn't let Loki retake him._

_He felt the peace, the certainty, the knowledge of what had to be done that had washed over him as the scepter's influence took control._

_And suddenly, he wasn't relieving it anymore. He was across the room. Watching it happen. Watching his mind be taken and broken and twisted…_

_Then it stopped being a memory and became something else. The other him turned and looked straight towards him, as Loki let go and stepped back, then faded away in oblivion._

_Bright blue eyes met his, staring him down. And then the other Clint was speaking. "This is who you are. You hide behind Loki and the scepter, but deep down, each thing he had you do, you would have done for Hydra. _This_ is who you really are. This is why you hate these memories so much, because you cannot bare to look at yourself for what you are. Who you always have been and what you always will be. And Loki had not part in it. In this memories you cannot hide from yourself."_

_Flashes of memory, his first kill for Hydra, and so many kills after that, torture, breaking, Nat staring at him in the common room, betrayal and hurt washing over her as he admitted the truth, the attack on the helicarrier, so many lives taken, sitting in his kitchen trying to explain to Cooper and Lila what he had done, seeing their trust in him crumble away…_

_The other Clint was coming towards him now, blue eyes vivid and unwavering, and he drew away from himself, stumbling backwards, desperate to get away, to look away, for this to just be over-_

There was a swirl of red and he was back in the bedroom. He stumbled backwards, away from Wanda, his back hitting the wall.

Wanda lowered her hands, and started at them, not meeting his eye.

Of course, why should she, after what she had seen?

He took several deep, shaking breathes. He clinched his fist and forced his voice to hold steady though he couldn't quite keep the bitterness out. "Now you've seen who I really am."

"No," said Wanda, her voice soft. She looked up at him and held his gaze. "I've seen how you see yourself." She hesitated. "I want to try once more."

"I…" He closed his eyes. Hating to admit defeat but finding he was weaker than he thought. "I can't. Not right now. I need a break."

"Once more," she said insistently, and held his gaze. _"Trust me."_

Reluctantly, wearily, he nodded, and she came towards him and once more raised her hands.

Red refilled his vision.

_Memories flickered past, he could feel her this time, more prominent, more forceful, searching through, discarding, seeking out what she sought, until suddenly, he was back there once more in the bunker._

_Once more he felt Loki grab his wrist, once more he felt himself lose control to the scepter. Once more he was left standing, staring at himself, those unnatural, vivid blue eyes meeting his._

_"She knows you now," the other Clint said, coming towards him. "She knows who you are. And you've let her down too. Like you let down the Avengers. Like you let down Nat. Like you let down Laura, Lila, Cooper. Like you will let down everyone and everything until someone finally has the guts to kill you like you deserve."_

_Clint tried to look away but the other reached out and grabbed him, pulling his head back towards him, those blue eyes boring into him. "Look at who you are! Look at _what_ you are. What will your children grow up to be, with an example like you before them?"_

_"No." It was a voice in the back of his head that wasn't his. A calm, clear presence, forceful and confident. "_This is not you. _You can stand up and stop this. Isn't that what you told us? At the end of the day, it's your choice? Your choice of who you are."_

_He froze._

_"You are not this man."_

_Suddenly he pushed, shoving the other Clint back. And suddenly he was that blue eyed man again, there was the peace and certainty and the plan the scepter had given him, but he knew it was false, he knew, all he had to do, was make a choice._

_Clint turned and looking at Loki, grinned. Loki snarled and raised the scepter, reaching out for him again, but Clint grabbed it._

_"I've wanted to this," he said, "for a very long time."_

_He twisted it out of Loki's grasp, and then slamming it across his face, sent him sprawling to the floor. Turning, he then brought the scepter down, hard to the ground, shattering it to a million pieces._

Once again, Clint saw red, and the world around him faded back to the safe house room.

Wanda was smiling at him. "And that," she said, "is how I see you."


	21. Chapter 21: Moving On

Clint shut the bedroom door, shutting out the sounds of Wanda and Pietro chatting as the latter cooked up dinner. He didn't bother switching on the light, but instead sat down in one of the chairs and pulled out his phone.

Laura picked up before the first ring was through.

"Clint?"

"Hey honey."

"Oh thank goodness. I've been so worried."

"You have?" He'd have called her sooner if he'd known. He'd _wanted_ to call sooner. But he'd also not wanted to alarm her by calling before schedule and there hadn't been a chance in Sokovia anyways, in that bombed out house. There'd been no reception.

"When you didn't call after the Avenger's press conference, I was concerned," she admitted.

"Oh. Yeah. I read about that."

"They did it for you," she said, gently.

"I suppose they did."

"They still care about you, Clint."

He closed his eyes. "Laura, can you just…tell me about the kids?"

"Are you sure you're okay Clint?"

"I'm exhausted. But…" He shrugged. "You know, I think I'm going to be okay. I know things can never go back to the way they were. I guess the truth is that things were never the way they should have been anyways. And I've broke things that I may never be able to repair, and I have to live with that. But, I think…someone has actually shown me how I can start to live with _myself_ again. I'm not saying it's all easy from here. But…it's a start."

"I'm so proud of you."

He smiled. "You shouldn't be. But I love you for that. Now tell me about the kids."

"Of course…actually about the kids…I have some pretty big news."

Instantly, he tensed. "Are they okay?"

"Oh they're thrilled. Well Cooper is. Lila is still trying to adjust."

"Adjust to what?"

"The idea of being a big sister."

He sat up straighter. "Are you…really?"

"Mmm-hmm."

He grinned. "Poor Lila."

"Do you think she'll eat an entire box of cereal the day the baby's born like Cooper did?"

"I don't know. Knowing Lila, she might go off and chop down a tree or something."

* * *

Nat opened the door and stepped into Clint's abandoned room in the tower. She moved to the center and looked around. There wasn't much of Clint here. She knew that. Not the real Clint. The Clint you could see at the farm house. There were none of the tools and projects spread around, handmade furniture or the DIY projects he loved so much.

There was a book on the nightstand; the closet door was open to reveal some shirts, pants, and a jacket. A few CDs lay on the dresser stacked next to a player. There was a knife sheath left on the dresser. And that was about it.

She moved over to the bed and sunk down on it, staring around. How had she never realized how empty he had kept this room? Entering it was like entering a safe house, bare and impersonal.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

_"Why me?" It'd been a year since he'd recruited her. A year in which she had only just begun to realize how deep her scars ran._

_She and Clint were sparring in a SHEILD gym. It was late. The gym was empty except for them. She hadn't been able to sleep. She'd gone down to the gym, expecting to have it to herself and been surprised to see Clint there already, at one of the punching bags. For one instant, before he'd noticed her, she thought she saw in his expression a mirror of her own guilt and doubt, but in the next instant it was gone. She decided she must have imagined it, or more likely have projected her own fears onto him. It wasn't until years later that she would curse herself for not asking, for writing it off, for doubting her own eyes for one of the few times in her life. But then, Clint always would be her blind spot._

_She hadn't even thought to ask him what he was doing up so late, too grateful to have someone to spar with. Sparring was better. It took more mental thought than mindlessly punching a bag or running on the treadmill._

_And yet, she hadn't been able to shut her thoughts off entirely, and at last the question had come bursting out of her. The question that had plagued her for twelve months._

_"Why me? SHIELD has sent you after so many targets. Why did you give me a chance?"_

_For a moment he didn't respond, dodging her left hook and returning it with a good solid kick. And then he'd stepped back. And they'd both stilled; she waiting for her answer._

_"I saw your record. I saw what had been done to you. And I thought…it was hell."_

_"So you pitied me?" Steal shot through her voice._

_"No. But I saw someone who'd never been shown another way. It was tragic but I didn't decide then to go against orders. But then I saw you." He turned his gaze back to her. "I looked in your eyes and I saw your strength. You were smiling. And I thought: someone who can smile after all you've been through, that's a woman with more depth of character than I will ever understand. And that's a woman who can do great things. Who can _be_ great. That is a woman who is so much more than what has been done to her."_

_She stared at him and then forced out the doubt that had plagued her, that she'd pushed away but that always came back. "Sometimes I wonder if everything you say…is too good to be true."_

_He frowned. "What do you mean?"_

_Nat shrugged one shoulder. "I know about using people. I've been used and I've used. I know the lies we tell in this life. Sometimes I believe everything you say…and sometimes I wonder if it's all just another game."_

_There was a flicker in his expression, a flicker of something she couldn't place at the time. Later, years later, she would see that expression again, as he raised a glass in Avengers Tower and said 'Hail Hydra', mockingly, brutally, brokenly._

_"You have every reason to doubt me, the world has given you plenty of reason, and you're wise not to trust me," he said quietly. He paused, it was a long, silent pause and when he spoke again, it sounded as if the words were costing him. "Will you do me a favor?"_

_"What?" she asked. She knew better than to give blanket promises._

_"I want to go somewhere with you. Show you something. I'll talk to Fury. We'll clear it. Would you go with me?"_

_She shrugged. "All right." That was easy enough. If he was planning some kind of betrayal, she could take care of herself. And she wanted to believe in him. Even she knew that. There was a part of her that wanted, so desperately, to believe in everything he said. If there wasn't, this would all be so much easier._

_They had left a week later. She thought Clint and Fury had had an argument about it, but she wasn't sure. They took a flight, and then Clint had rented a car and they'd driven out to the country. Farms began to dot the scenery around them, and she'd been surprised when Clint pulled off onto a road that clearly belonged to a small private farm. They'd driven up to a house._

_It was so completely the quintessential American farmhouse that Nat would have laughed if she hadn't been so thoroughly confused. She'd asked Clint twice on the way over, where they were headed, but both times he'd said 'wait and see'. She could read from his body language that he was nervous. So she'd prepared herself for anything, for any fight, for any battle, and not asked again._

_As he put the car into park, and got out, she'd followed his example, and glanced at him over the car, an unasked question on her face. He nodded towards the house._

_"Come on."_

_She followed, as he mounted the steps to the porch. As Nat stepped onto the porch, the front door of the house opened and a dark haired woman came out. She was pregnant, and she was smiling. Nat noticed at once Clint returning the smile, warm and broad. He kissed the woman lightly. The woman then turned to Nat._

_"You must be Natasha." She stepped forward, holding out a hand. "Clint has told me so much about you. I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you at last."_

_"I…" Nat shook her hand, an automatic reaction more than anything else._

_"This is my wife," said Clint. "Laura Barton."_

_"Oh." Nat blinked. "It's…a pleasure to meet you."_

_"You too. Lunch is almost ready. I've got something on the stove. I've got to hurry back to it if we don't want the burgers to burn. I'm so glad you're here though." Laura turned to Clint. "I suppose I'm happy to see you too," she teased, and then headed back into the house._

_Clint turned to Nat. "Fury set this house up. Some place safe, kept it off SHIELD's records. I like to keep it that way." He stepped forward and looked at her intently. "There's no one else at SHIELD…or anywhere else…that knows about this place..about Laura being here. It's only Fury…and now you."_

_She stared at him. The weight of what he was saying crashing down on her. "Why…why would you ever trust me with this?" she asked, stunned._

_Clint chuckled. "Logically? I haven't a reason in the world. But the truth is Nat that I trust you. I believe in you. And I just bet everything on the fact that I'm right."_

_From inside the house, Laura had called something to Clint about setting the table. As he and Nat had entered the house together, Nat swore to herself that no matter what: she'd prove him right._

In the present, Nat remembered that visit. She'd felt uncomfortable at first, but Laura had made her feel so welcomed. And no one had ever trusted her the way Clint had by bringing her there. It had awed her. She realized, looking back, that that was the moment, the moment she truly had committed herself to SHIELD and Fury…and to Clint. Most of all to Clint.

Before that, there had always been a piece of her that had held off, that had thought 'I can still run'. But not after that. After that, she hadn't even wanted the option to.

And looking back…she realized something else suddenly. Something that hit her like a ton of bricks and, if she'd been standing, would have sent her staggering.

That had been real. Everything else Clint had said and done, that might have been a lie. But that, bring her to the farm, trusting her with his family, that had been that been real. Completely and utterly. And if that was real…then his faith in her had been real…

Bruce's words floated back to her.

_I think at some point you need to find something to believe in beyond one man._

She realized how scared she'd been since the truth of Clint's betrayal had shattered her. How scared she had been that everything that made her world tick had been an illusion. It had been so important that she was fighting for something worth fighting for, that she had found meaning, that she had found a better way.

And she had been terrified that she hadn't. That she had just traded one meaningless, brutal world of blood for another.

Perhaps she did have to let her image of Clint go. But it had served its purpose. It had held her until she was ready to hold herself together. Clint had believed in her until she was ready to believe in herself. Until she was ready to find her own way. And she realized: she had reached that point. As she looked back on herself so many years ago, so lost and confused and wounded, she marveled at where she was now. And lies and betrayal aside, she would always have Clint to thank for that.

_Enough._ She stood.

It was time to leave the past and move on into the future and whatever it held.

Taking once last look around the room, she shut the closet door, and then left and went up to the common room where she round Thor and Steve debating movie choices. She sat down on the couch and threw herself into the discussion. As they finally settled down to a 1930's musical, it struck her…that she was no longer afraid.


	22. Chapter 22: Bucky

Bucky Barnes pulled his hat a little lower and cut down an alley in Belgrade. It was impossible to say how he knew or what tipped him off, but he sensed he was being followed. Maybe he'd seen something or instinct just felt the eyes on the back of his neck. Whatever it was though, it told him that someone was out there, watching him. And whoever it was, was very good. That fact alone filled him with foreboding. Steve wouldn't have been that subtle. This was Hydra training.

He just had to get to that seedy apartment he'd been renting for the past few weeks. Grab his stuff. He'd be out of Belgrade in thirty minutes. He entered by a backdoor and jogged up the steps. As soon as he entered the apartment though, he knew at once he shouldn't have come back. He should have abandoned what little he had and just run for it. He wasn't alone.

Of course, a man sitting patiently at the kitchen table, wasn't what he'd expected either. He'd expected soldiers with guns. Instead he got Clint Barton.

He recognized Barton at once, from the papers, from a fractured memory somewhere deep in his head that he couldn't quire sort out. It didn't matter. His eyes sought the backpack in the corner of the room. He shifted, ready for a fight.

Barton must have seen the shift in posture for he raised both hands. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk."

Bucky's hand went straight for the knife at his side and he threw it, Barton was out of his chair and rolling in a flash. Bucky launched himself across the room, grabbing his backpack.

"Barnes!" Barton was approaching him, hands up again, "_please_, listen-" Bucky kicked out, sending Barton sprawling back, he then dashed to the open window, and climbed out onto the sill, before pulling himself up to the roof.

Left alone, breath knocked out of him, Barton let out a groan.

"What's that?" asked the mildly amused voice of Brock in his earpiece.

"Fine," Clint muttered. "Plan B: we don't ask."

On the roof, Bucky ran, sprinting to the end of the roof and leaping to the neighboring one. Suddenly shots rang out, hitting the ground inches in front of him. He rolled to the side, shifting directions. He leapt across a gap onto another roof. More bullets.

As he shifted directions again, he realized he was being herded. Whoever was firing was trying to send him somewhere specific.

Which meant the only way to avoid the trap was to make for the shooter.

Ducking behind a chimney stack, he searched for the shooter's probable location. There was a building, a little higher than the others, not far.

There. That would be the right location.

He ran for it. Take out the shooter. Kill them. Leave.

It was Hydra. It had to be Hydra. He wouldn't, couldn't let them take back control. Whatever it took, he had to avoid the words.

He dashed across two roofs, and leapt to a fire escape, climbing the ladder quickly. As he reached the roof, he knew at once he'd been right. On the far side, a man stood, gun in hand. A man that his memory regularly recognized from his years in Hydra, but he had no time now to sort it out. But even as Bucky approached, the man didn't raise the weapon. Didn't fire again. Instead he tossed it aside and seemed to prepare to defend himself, raising his fists.

Something was wrong, something was off…there'd been no gun fire as he'd come towards this roof, and Hydra would surely have known to set more than one sniper to cover him…

_They wanted you on this roof. This was really where they were leading you._

Inwardly, Bucky swore, the sense of a trap suddenly overwhelming.

He reached the man and lashed out, throwing a sharp, painful left hook. The man kicked, catching Bucky in the gut. Bucky in turn jabbed him in the ribs which sent his attacker precariously close to the edge of the roof.

Then suddenly there was woosh, and something hit him at an impossible speed, sending him staggering. He looked round. Feet away, a young man set a red haired girl down. There was another woosh as the man moved again, knocking Bucky back.

A third woosh, but this time he was prepared, his brain syncing the sound with an attack and he swung out, his fist colliding with someone, when suddenly, felt two hands on the back of his head, red sparks flashing before his eyes and the roof faded from his vision…

For one moment, he was floating in a void, empty darkness all around filled only with flashes of red. He couldn't feel himself, he couldn't feel anything.

And then there was…something, some force beyond him, searching looking…

Then in a blast of excruciating pain:

_Longing_.

He could feel the word ripping through him, out of him, pulled out by roots that were wrapped around every nerve and sinew of his body. He screamed.

The void was gone now. He was being shoved back in the chair. As the pain of the chair shot through him, he could feel the presence in his head, searching, looking…

_Rusted._

The pain of the word, being torn from him, drowned out even the pain of the chair…

He was in the ice now, freezing, burning, struggling to retain his consciousness, as through the glass he saw one last brief glimpse of a bare room before he was put under for who knew how long, and the fear flashed through his brain that maybe this time was the time and they never woke him up again…

_Furnace._

Agony, pain, worse than anything he had ever endured.

He was staring down at the target. The car, a mangled mess beside them, inside which was the dead body of the woman he'd just strangled. The target looked up, shock registering on his face, a name, both familiar and foreign slipping from his mouth... "Sergeant Barnes?"

And there was that presence. Poking, prodding, searching. And he knew now the pain that was about to come, so that he screamed a split second before it actually came, just as he felt the presence latch onto something in his head.

_Daybreak_.

His brain should be bleeding. He should be dead from this pain, he should be over, instead it felt unending, unavoidable. It was hell. It was damnation. It was eternity.

Blood was seeping from his stump. He could see his metal arm, over on the table, on the far side of the room. The scientists thought they could improve it, but why put him out for the operation? It wasn't necessary. A waste of anesthesia. He thought they enjoyed it. Yet his mind was screaming at the horror as much as at the pain.

And there was the presence again.

_"No,"_ he begged, no please, "_I can't take anymore, I can't-"_

_"Shh. You can. It will be over soon, I promise," the presence responded. It was soft and gentle. voice An accent threaded its way around the words. "Trust me. Trust me."_

Trust? A concept so far removed from his decades of pain and torture. There was no trust in Hydra. How could he trust?

_"I know, I know…" _The voice was so understanding, so kind…so sad.

_Seventeen_.

It was gone, ripped and shattered, shaking him to his core.

He was staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle. The child in his sights was no more than eight. The child was playing in a sandbox. There was something, deep and buried, that was screaming at him, but it was so distant, locked behind words and pain. Buried and forgotten. He couldn't listen to it, he could only listen to the orders…

The blood mingled with the sand, and splattered the victim's sister who'd been beside him. Screams from his nearby mother. A lesson taught by Hydra that the father would never forget.

_Benign._

He was shaking, panting…

Doctor Zola standing over him. He was locked to a chair. The doctor was smiling, grinning even.

The presence poked and prodded, shifted…

Pain, pain in his arm and in his head, Zola laughing in the background, but none of the pain was as terrible as that which was about to come, for the presence had found yet again what it was seeking…

_Nine._

He was in a cell, shaking, trembling from what his body had just gone through, what he knew it would continue to go through.

He was looking round, desperately, for a way, anyway, to end it, to take his own life. But they hadn't even had the decency to leave him his clothes to shove down his own throat and choke on because they knew he would take it. He'd come close once before…at least he thought he had…

He couldn't be sure anymore. He wasn't sure what was real or what was imaginary. He wasn't sure of his own name. Some days he had it and some days it slipped away, or had they been days? He had no way of knowing. Perhaps they'd been hours or perhaps they'd been months. The time, the name, it all slipped away, then back again, along with an image of a young, blonde man. What he had been called? Had he even been real? Why did he ache as the vision flitted in and out of his consciousness?

They were doing something to his head so that he couldn't be sure anymore. What were they doing? Why were they doing it? Who were they? He thought he'd known the answers to these questions once. He thought…he _knew_…the answers had horrified him. But he couldn't remember what the answers were. Wait…what were the questions again?

He raised his hands to bury his face in them and froze. He stared at horror at where his left arm should be. The horror only intensified by a voice in the back of his head that kept wondering: how many times before had he made the discovery that he was missing an arm? And how many times more would he forget it?

When he felt the presence in his head take hold of the next word, he almost welcomed the pain that he knew would take him away from this moment, the worst of the past…those horrifying weeks, or had it been months, when there had been just enough of himself left to know what was being pried away from him…

_Homecoming._

The snow, cold, and freezing. Numbness. Pain in his left shoulder, someone coming through the snow towards him…

Steve?

But it hadn't been Steve.

And now he was being dragged away…

_One._

He was hanging off the side of the train. Steve was yelling to him, coming closer…

"Grab my hand!"

Bucky was reaching out to him, when suddenly the railing shook, broke…

And just as he felt his body fall, the rush of the wind, the panic, the dread, the inevitability…

The final word shattered…

_Freight Car._

But there was no pain this time.

The world went white then crystallized into Brooklyn. He was walking down the street, with Steve at his side. The two were laughing, joking about some movie they'd just stepped out of. He had both arms, both flesh and blood. His hair was cut, his face clean-shaven. The world around him was old, and right, and one he knew and understood, one that made sense, one that lacked madmen and superheroes…

Steve was grinning from ear to ear. A pretty girl, passing, glanced back to have a second look at Bucky, but Bucky didn't notice her. He was feeling on top of the world. He was feeling bright. He was feeling joy.

This was what joy felt like. He'd forgotten.

And then his memories were roaring through his head, or he was roaring through them. Not the memories of Hydra and the Winter Solider. The memories of Bucky and Brooklyn. Of his family and of Steve. His memories of the life he had had before. A life that had been too painful to dwell on before, even as his memories had slipped back through cracks in the walls that Hydra had built up.

He was reliving them, and something, that…presence…was blocking the future from his head, so that he could live them pure and gloriously. He could embrace them without pain and without dread of what the future had held for him.

And suddenly he was back on that street again. Only he was standing across the street. His left arm one of metal again. And he was watching his former self, walking with Steve.

He felt a wave of regret. The wave of the future coming crashing back down through the ages. There was the road between him and his past…but it could have been an ocean. He would never be that man again, he would never have that peace again. Or that pure, adulterated joy.

Suddenly his former self stopped, and turned…and he was looking directly at him.

Steve seemed to fade into the back, the sounds of Brooklyn with him…and now his former self was crossing the street.

Bucky took a step back, unaccountably terrified. But what was he scared of?

Yet, as the past him waited for a taxi to drive by before continuing on, he felt an urge to turn and run.

But there was a weight on his shoulder and the presence, urging him to hold, to wait, to see. Urging him to be brave.

And now the other him was standing right there, a foot away.

And that other him smiled. That cocky, confidant smile he himself had once worn, and he held out his hand.

Bucky stared down at it, and then up at the face beaming at him.

This was him. This man, who was on top of the world, who had everything to live for, and no idea of the unending nightmare that he was headed for…this was him. These memories were his. This was part of him. A part he thought was dead and gone…but it was still in here somewhere with him wasn't it? Because this was the part that had dived into the water and pulled Steve out. It was this cocky, confidant man.

And slowly, hesitantly, he took his own hand, and shook it…

Brooklyn disappeared. And he was back on the roof.

Only he knew, it wasn't really the roof. This was still inside his head. There were no sounds. No wind. It was empty save for himself and one other.

Bucky looked down. His arms were both flesh again, he was dressed in the 1930's suit he had been wearing that day in Brooklyn.

He looked up at the man before him.

The Winter Soldier. Dressed in the uniform Hydra had given him. The mask across his face. A gun in the metal arm.

This wasn't him. This was the Asset. This wasn't him! And once again Bucky wanted to run. He didn't want to look at this image. This wasn't him! He wanted to dive back into the memories of Brooklyn and Steve and burry himself there.

This wasn't him. This was a monster Hydra had created. This was something that had no part in past of Brooklyn and Steve. Or even in the War.

_This wasn't him._

But then, all this was still inside his head as well, wasn't it?

The Winter Soldier wasn't moving. He wasn't coming closer. Bucky frowned and studied him. There was a strange expression in the Soldier's eyes. And then, with a start, Bucky realized the man was scared. He could see the terror in the Soldier's eyes. And he felt compassion.

For he remembered that terror.

This was him. Just as the Bucky of Brooklyn had been him. It was all him. It would always be him. Hydra had cut his identity from him, and since breaking free he'd been trying to do the same to himself, all over again.

But he couldn't cut this terrified, horrified man from himself. It was impossible. Just as Hydra had never truly, never completely, cut the Bucky of Brooklyn from the Soldier. And that was why the Soldier had pulled Steve out of the water.

The Soldier had been the one to survive all those years. The one who pulled Bucky along. And now Bucky would carry the Soldier. And together the two would make a whole.

He smiled, the confident, cocky smile, and he crossed the roof, slowly, gently, and held out a hand.

The Solider stared at it. But Bucky wasn't afraid that he wouldn't take it. He knew he would…for he knew him, for he was him…

Now the Soldier was reaching out. The two hands clasped. He could feel the presence echoing inside his head, relaxed and beaming…and then letting go. He was sorry to feel it go.

Red sparks converged around the edges of vision.

And then the world went black.


	23. Chapter 23: Freedom

Bucky slowly drifted awake. His eyes still closed, the first thing he was aware of was the fact that he was lying in a bed far more comfortable than any he'd been in since…well, probably since he'd gone off to war.

That memory in turn made him realize that for the first time since he'd pulled Steve out of that water, his head didn't feel like an oozing mass of wounds and acid. He opened his eyes.

He was in a bedroom. It was simple, a few pieces of furniture that mostly looked unused. The whole thing screamed safe house to a man who'd been in his fair share of them. He noticed his backpack had been placed carefully on top of one of the chairs. He sat up and swung his legs down to the floor.

Mentally, he took stock. His mind felt…at peace. Memories had been coming back piecemeal, distorted, confused, things still buried under a haze of pain and blackness. But now he could remember. Brooklyn, the war, Hydra. All of it sorted. All of it where it belonged. No more nightmarish aberrations twisting together so that he couldn't sort out what was real and what was fantasy, where Hydra and the war merged while Brooklyn took on grotesque shapes.

There were still memories, more now perhaps, that he wished he could forget. Memories that were nightmare enough in and of themselves. But there was still relief in _knowing_, knowing it was real. Knowing where it fell. Seeing the context and all the other memories around them. And the good memories, the memories from before all that hell, made the hard ones just a little easier to bear.

And he could sense, in a way that he couldn't quite explain even to himself, that the words were gone.

The relief that flooded him at this thought was immense. They were out of him. He was free. For the first time in….decades. It wasn't just a matter of time anymore before Hydra found him and he was lost again.

And then he frowned. Why? Why had they done it? Who had done it? He played the encounter through in his head. Clint Barton had been in the apartment, and the man on the roof…his face had been scared and burned but he was certain it had to have been Brock Rumlow. Two Hydra agents. And who had the other two been? And why would Hydra agents have freed him?

He became aware of distant voices. He stood, and moved towards the door. Opened it a crack and peered down an empty hallway. The voices were coming from the end of the hall, past a half open door.

Quietly, he moved down the hall and stood in the doorway.

At a kitchen table, the young man and red haired girl from the roof sat at one side. They seemed to be the ones doing the talk. At either end of the table sat Rumlow and Barton. Several takeout boxes were spread across the table.

His eyes flicked to the door, then considered retreating to find a window. He could leave now. It was the safer option. But curiosity, something a week ago he would never had indulged, held him for a moment in uncertainty…perhaps he could afford to indulge it now that the words could no longer threaten him…

Before he had quite decided, the red haired girl glanced up, caught sight of him and smiled.

"You're awake! How are you feeling?" And he knew that voice. It had been the voice inside his head. The presence that ripped out the words and then hadn't left him alone, but stayed and guided him through the jagged mess that had been left behind.

He came into the room. Rumlow had instantly stilled, and Clint turned in his chair to face him.

"You are all right?" asked the girl, her concern so evident and so real that Bucky couldn't resist a small flicker of a smile.

"I think so. Yeah. Thanks to you I think? What exactly did you do?" He glanced at her and then back at the two older men, staying ready, accessing the room for threats then accessing it again. Ready to react should either make a move. The young man too. He'd been the one with the speed after all. He was the one that would be hardest to counter.

"I…went into your mind. I repaired what damage I could…I hope I didn't cause any. My powers are still," she shrugged.,"unknown to some extent."

"Powers?" His gaze flicked back to her. "This world keeps getting stranger. Aliens, superpowers," he glanced back at Barton and Rumlow, "Hydra agents deprogramming the Winter Soldier."

Clint cleared his throat. "Why don't you have a seat?" he gestured to an empty chair. "We can talk."

"We have food," the girl said, gesturing to the takeout. "Pietro ordered far too much of it."

Bucky glanced between her and Clint, but the time it would take him to move from sitting to attack was such a fraction of time that he decided he might as well, so warily, he took the seat but didn't reach for the food, nor did he relax. "What do you want?"

"Like I tried to say at your apartment," said Clint, a little ruefully, "I just want to talk."

Bucky frowned. "I read about you in the papers. I know you're an Avenger. And apparently some kind of double agent working for Shield the past couple of years. I suppose that _might _be a reason for hearing you out. But why should I trust him?" He jerked a thumb at Brock.

Brock gave a humorless chuckle and, moving for the first time since Bucky had entered the room, leaned back in his chair and crossing his legs. "You probably shouldn't. I voted for using the words."

To perhaps everyone's surprise, including his own, Bucky gave a snort of laughter. "Well I appreciate the honesty."

"And speaking of honesty," said Clint, "that story about me was a lie. I never betrayed Hydra, as much as I wish I had. The Avengers told that story to protect me. I think. I haven't exactly been in contact with them since Project Insight."

"So you're _both_ still Hydra agents, I still don't know why I should trust you, and I certainly don't know why you went and broke my programming."

"I _was_ Hydra. I'm not now. I admit, we want your help. But the choice is going to be yours whether you give it to us. If you want, you can walk right out the front door and we won't bother you again."

"Choice…" Bucky let out a deep breath.

He remembered Clint. One mission seven years ago was the only time they'd encountered each other…there'd been more missions with Rumlow. Rumlow had even served as his handler on a few of them. Both men had, in the grand scheme of Hydra, not been that bad. At least not to him. But that wasn't much of a scale he was measuring them on. And they'd both done plenty on behalf of the mission and Hydra

But when he glanced back at the girl, he remembered her in his head. He remembered how her mind felt, there in the back of his own. That he could trust. That had been safe.

"What _exactly_ do you want help with?" he asked tentatively.

Clint reached back and grabbed a folder off a side table. He flicked it open and took out a picture, pushing it across the table to Bucky who picked it up. "Do you recognize that man?"

Bucky stared at the picture, sorting through his memories. It was an amazing feeling to be able to do that. To be able to slide from one to the next, instead of staring into a vast murky pool where everything was hazy and twisted.

"Baron Strucker. I remember him. One of Hydra's many sadists." He shoved the picture back to Clint.

Clint handed him a second photo.

"What's this?" Bucky asked.

"Have you heard about the alien invasion in New York?"

"I've been on the run. Not living under a rock. Plus, there's something called the internet. It's pretty amazing. You should try it."

"Thanks. Call me a hipster but I've already discovered it."

Bucky chuckled again and relaxed just a fraction.

"That scepter was used by the man who led the invasion: Loki. He was able to use it for mind control." Bucky instantly tensed. Clint added quickly, "When last confirmed, Strucker hadn't figured out how to use it for that."

"But I'm guessing he's trying."

"It wasn't his main point of research." It was the first time the young man, Pietro the girl had called him, spoke.

"Strucker's figured out how to use the scepter to give certain people enhanced abilities."

Bucky frowned for a minute and then glanced towards the two on the other side of the table. "Like them?"

"Yeah."

"So they're Hydra too?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl fold her arms, a little defensively and perhaps just a little hurt. He was surprised though at how firmly Clint came back with: "They're not Hydra. Strucker was based in Sokovia. Recruited kids and," he added, though with a slight grin, seeing the way Pietro opened his mouth to argue, "young adults, essentially as test subjects. Told them a bunch of lies and preyed on the fact that Sokovia's a huge mess right now."

"A mess I helped cause if memory serves, which for the first time in about sixty years, it does. Killed my fair share of Sokovia leaders to keep things destabilized." He said it while looking at Clint, but he said for the benefit of the other two. No lies, no hiding of sins.

"Wanda and Pietro here are the only two who survived the experiments but, even though the survival rates were bad enough to convince most sane men to reevaluate…I don't think Strucker's particularly sane."

"And he's in Sokovia? With the scepter?"

"Well actually…no." Clint looked a little embarrassed suddenly. "I lost it."

"Excuse me?"

"He was in Sokovia, but…I kind of uh messed up on retrieving it. Wanda and Pietro helped me get out but…Strucker got spooked, packed up his base and left. Now we have no clue where he's gotten to. Which is kind of where we were hoping you might be able to help us."

Bucky looked up, a little surprised. "I don't know where he is." He tossed the picture back to Clint.

"I know that. But the base he was at in Sokovia, was a top secret, off the books base. The type that, even if you could find some mention of them in the leaked Hydra files, could take years to uncover. Brock was the one that told me about it in the first place because he'd been there. We figure if Strucker was at a base like that, he's likely moved to another off the books base. But we don't know any others. But you…well we thought you might know where more are. Since…" Clint trialed off, a little awkwardly.

"Since Hydra never felt a need to hide locations from me since I'd never be able to remember them." He began to tap his foot. "So what exactly is this? Civil war between what's left of Hydra?" He glanced between Clint and Brock. "Why do you guys want the scepter in the first place and how do I know you'll do anything better with it than Strucker?"

"Hey," said Brock, holding up his hands. "I don't care who's got the scepter. I'm just here to help Clint."

"I'm retrieving it for Nick Fury."

"Fury? I thought you said that story in the papers was a lie?"

"It is. He's…giving me another chance though."

"Why?"

Clint shrugged. "You'd have to ask him that."

"Somehow I don't think that conversation would go over too great given our last encounter." He tapped his foot again, staring at the picture of the scepter that still lay on the table next to Clint's elbow.

He should have no earthly reason to trust Barton. None….except….well, two. One, the Avengers _had_ stepped up and told that lie for him. Steve had told that lie for him. Steve was an idiot who believed the best of everyone, and didn't Bucky know it. Steve would have let Bucky pummel him to death, because he believed so thoroughly. But that belief, that faith…Bucky had always loved that about him.

And then there was the girl setting across the table: Wanda. She'd been in his head. That should make him want to run out of here as fast and as far as he could, after all the ways his mind had been abused and turned against him. But she'd been so deep in there…he'd caught a glimpse of her own.

There was fire there, but it was warm and welcoming fire.

Besides, when the words had been taken out, he'd been given something he thought he'd never have again. Freedom, freedom to stop being terrified. He supposed he could start using it now.

"All right," he said. "I'll help you find the bases."


	24. Chapter 24: Easier

**AN: **_I seem to be totally incapable of sitting on an update when it's ready to go for more than like two days. I just get too excited about posting it. I always have such good intentions of spreading posts out. *Sigh*._

Papers were spread out over the kitchen table, several maps among them, some hand drawn, some of cities and countries. There were printouts from the Hydra files and satellite scans of swaths of land. It was several days worth of work, and Bucky hadn't slept much while compiling it, but looking out over it now, he was satisfied. And it had felt good to have a task to focus on and complete.

"I think those are all the bases I've been to," he said. "Of course it's a little hard to say for certain. Even with what Wanda cleared up in my head, it's still a lot of year's worth of memories to sort through. And things still get jumbled a bit. Times I was shipped places while still in cryo. Times I arrived places at night and was never told where I was because it wasn't important for the mission. But I've pieced it together as best as I can."

Clint surveyed a neat list summarizing the bases. "This is great work. And enough places to check to keep us busy for a while."

"I wish I knew more about Strucker and where he was likely to go. But I only knew him out of the base in Sokovia. However," he pointed to the list, "I did mark the places with larger labs and which places I think would be more suited to the kind of experiments he's likely to be running with the scepter. It was the best I could do on narrowing it down for you."

Clint nodded. "It's perfect. Thank you Barnes. With this, we might actually be able to stop him before he's able to do any real damage with that thing. We got real lucky that the two who survived the last experiments were the twins. Next batch of test subjects, we might not be so fortunate on the ones that make it out alive."

"Bucky. You can call me Bucky."

Clint grinned. "Thanks again." He looked over the list once more. "We'll head out tomorrow. I'll leave a way for you to contact me. Just in case you do think of any others. Even a possibility of where one might be."

Bucky shifted. "I know you only asked for help locating the bases. But not all these bases may be empty. And I would have some familiarity with them which could help. I could go with you. With the words out, going up against Hydra, isn't such a threat for me that it once was."

Clint was forcibly reminded of Wanda and Pietro, hopefully offering to help him retrieve the scepter and with nowhere else to go if he'd rejected them. But Bucky _did_ have someplace to go. Someplace Clint had been sure he'd be heading now that he'd finished compiling this intel.

"I thought you'd be heading to the states, go see Steve."

Bucky's jaw tightened. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Why not? You can't be turned into a threat against him now. And you have all your memories. You know how important you are to him."

"We were like brothers," agreed Bucky simply.

"So why don't you want to go see him?"

"He has a life. I'd only complicate it."

"I'd think having you back in it would de-complicate at."

"I killed Maria and Howard Stark," said Bucky flatly, meeting Clint's eyes.

"Oh."

"I am not going to make Steve choose between-...he's got friends, he's got a team...he's got a mission. Steve was always a hero. Always looking to do the right thing; it's part of who he is. I can't and I won't put him in a position where he has to choose between that and me."

There was a long pause. What would Tony do? Clint wondered. The one time Clint had ever heard him mention his parents, it was clear there was a whole airport's worth of baggage there and that Tony would probably start blowing things up before allowing anyone to touch any of it. And, Clint had to admit with a flash of guilt, he himself had damaged the Avengers enough that they probably weren't equipped to survive the second blow to the team that Bucky's arrival would probably bring if, or more accurately when, Tony learned the truth.

He wasn't sure that Steve wouldn't rather have Bucky at his side than all the Avengers put together, or at least that that was the choice he would make if given it. Clint could call him, and he had no doubts he'd drop everything in a heartbeat to be here. He might even forgive Clint for everything in exchange for having his best friend back. Help them all retrieve the scepter...

It was an appealing picture. But one Clint knew he could never execute. For he was also certain that he had no right to force that decision on Bucky. Enough choice had been taken from the man over the years that do to so now, even if Bucky was making the wrong choice, would be monstrous.

So instead Clint shrugged. "Well, we can definitely use your help to get back the scepter."

Bucky gave him a brief tight smile of thanks.

* * *

It was the closest they'd come to a team dinner since Project Insight. It hadn't been planned. It just happened. Steve and Nat had been chatting, it got late, they started cooking, and then Thor came back. Nat noticed Steve add a little extra to the pan, subtly as if he was afraid someone would notice, and then later, as he dished the food onto plates, casually told Jarvis to let Bruce and Tony know there were leftovers if they got hungry.

Ten minutes later Bruce appeared, and said Tony might be coming up in a bit, but Rhodey just called. It was nice. All sitting round the table again. The tension of the past months temporarily melted away. It was a restful and peaceful seventeen minutes and twenty-three seconds, Nat counted it. And then the elevator doors opened and Tony entered the common room.

Nat looked up at the sound, and knew at once that the pleasant team dinner was officially over. The expression on Tony's face was unmistakably one of anger, and a lot of it.

"Rogers," he snapped. Steve looked up, surprised. "Outside, now!" Tony said, gesturing to the roof.

"Tony, what-"

"Now!" And Tony stalked out through the glass doors and onto the landing pad beyond.

Nat and Bruce both shot Steve a questioning look, but he shrugged, and followed Tony out.

"Tony?"

Tony was pacing up and down, but as Steve spoke, he whirled round on him. "Why is your friend Sam doing contacting Rhodey, asking for help finding Barnes?"

Steve, who'd been coming forward, stopped at this. "Sam figured Rhodey would have more active military contacts than either he or I have, which might be useful in the search," he said calmly.

"Rhodey is my friend! You didn't think that maybe you were crossing a line there?"

"I figured it was his choice. And I told you that I wasn't going to stop looking for Bucky."

"And I told you I didn't want to hear about it! This is me, hearing about it!"

"What do you want me to do Tony?" A brief flash of anger on Steve's face. "Bucky is my friend!"

"And what am I?" snapped Tony.

"I-, Tony of course- but-…he's alone. And everything he's been through-"

"What about what _I've _been through? You're trying to recruit my friends against me when I'm the one whose parents were murdered and _he's_ the one who did it."

"It wasn't his fault! He had no choice. Hydra was controlling him. It's no different than what Loki did to Clint-"

Tony gave a very empty laugh. "Oh Clint. Right yeah, let's bring up the other Hydra agent in our midst."

"I didn't mean-…Selvig then. It's the same principle."

"Exactly the same principle," said Tony viciously. "Selvig built the failsafe into the portal so that it could be shut down. And Barnes? Oh sure, there was programming and torture and memory wipes. But none of that was infallible. After all he broke through all that when it came down to saving you."

"It wasn't easy! It wasn't as simple as him just not choosing to follow orders! And I had a lifetime of memories with him to call on to get through to him!"

"Right. It wasn't easy. He just needed something worth breaking the programming for, and my parents just didn't make the cut."

"...Tony, you have to know it wasn't as simple as that. You _do_ know it. You know what Hydra did to him was complex and...brutal."

Tony shook his head. "So that just makes it all okay then? Everything he did?"

"He didn't have a choice."

"He still did it!"

"He didn't want to!"

"He should have tried harder not to!"

"It's more complicated than that!"

"Yes! Steve it is! That is exactly the problem! It is more complicated than that. More complicated than just 'he didn't want to do it!" Tony began to pace. "I've seen the video!"

"What? What video?"

He paused. He hadn't meant to admit to that. But it was too late now. He let his anger carry him through. "It's in the Hydra files. I went digging. There's a video of Barnes and my parents and-…I've seen him _kill_ my parents. My _mother_. And one my best friends is trying to tell me I should just forget about that?"

Steve blinked, surprised at news of the video and Tony's description of him. "I don't…I don't expect you to just _forget_ it Tony. I'd never ask that. But how can anyone of us say we wouldn't end up exactly like Bucky, in the same circumstances? He's a man in pain."

"Right. And he's all that matters," said Tony icily.

"Of course not. But _you're_ the one pushing an either/or here, Tony. Not me."

Tony rolled his eyes and let out a noise of exasperation before turning and walking off, leaving Steve alone on the roof. As he entered back into the common room, the others were still sitting at the table but they'd stopped eating. The tension and strain was back.

Bruce half rose as he entered. "Tony-?"

"Not now Bruce," he muttered, and calling the elevator, stepped into it.

Entering his lab a couple of minutes later, Tony reached for the nearest workbench, and pushed its contents to the floor, relishing the smash.

Some part of him, probably the part of him that would always be and had always been since the day he'd met her, Pepper, was telling him to calm down, to think, to consider. But most of him couldn't think straight.

Most of him wanted to smash. Maybe, he thought dryly, this was what the Hulk always felt like, in which case no wonder there was always so much property damage when he was around.

He smashed the contents of another table and then went over to the cabinet with the drinks and poured himself a very tall whiskey. As he drained the glass, he closed his eyes.

_ "I had a couple of good people in my life. My mom. And-" _

_"Barnes."_

_"Yeah. Barnes."_

He pinched the corners of his eyes.

_"So it's really, really easy to be angry at him. But it's not as easy to hate him as I thought."_

_"What are you saying?"_

_ "I don't know. I guess maybe that it's not so simple?"_

He took a deep breath.

_But how can anyone of say we wouldn't end up exactly like Bucky, in the same circumstances? He's a man in pain._

Barnes.

How? How could Steve-….how _could_ Steve?

For the first time he asked himself the question. Legitimately asked the question, and didn't make it rhetorical.

Steve had to have seen Barnes the way Tony saw him. He'd fought him. He'd protected Nick Fury from him. Was Barnes just Steve's blind spot?

Okay, so what if he was his blind spot? What if, despite everything that had gone on with Hydra and Project Insight, he couldn't see the Winter Soldier. What was he seeing instead?

Tony ground his teeth, and set his jaw.

_I don't care,_ he thought bitterly. Tony was the one who had lost. Tony was the one whose parents had been taken away, leaving him struggling and self-destructing for the next couple of decades.

His mom. His mom had been in that car, alone and scared. His mom, the one person that anchored him until Pepper had come into his life…

But…then again…you couldn't cast your sins onto others. He'd sworn he'd take responsibility. He'd stepped up and owned his mistakes after Afghanistan. He'd become Iron Man. He'd…

What would have happened to him in that cave if the terrorist had been just a little smarter? Or if Yinsen hadn't been there? If he'd truly had to choose between helping them and…more torture and eventual death?

_"You're the one pushing an either/or here Tony. Not me."_

"Jarvis," he said abruptly, "Where's Steve?"

"He's in his room, sir."

"Call him. Audio only." Tony poured himself a second glass.

There was a pause. And then Steve's voice filled the lab, wary and tired. "Tony?"

"Tell me about Barnes." It came out short and angry.

"What?"

Tony closed his eyes, and tried to modulate his tone."Tell me about growing up with Barnes. I don't want to talk. I just-…need to hear it. I need some image other than the road and the car and-….just tell me about the man you're fighting for here."

There was a long silence. And then Steve began to talk. He told stories of growing up, he told stories that Tony suspected he didn't even realize exposed his own wounds so glaringly, so determined was he to share the Bucky he was willing to sacrifice so much for. He told stories of the war, of Brooklyn. Big stories, little stories. Stories that changed both men's lives and stories of jokes that had made them laugh for a minute and then should have been forgotten in time a moment later but weren't, not by this man they'd meant the world to.

As he talked, Tony sat at his computer, and let the stories float around him. He played the video of the assassination at the car, he dived into the Hydra files and read mission reports of the Asset and technician reports of the chair, of the Soldier's cryo chamber, of work done on his arm. And he delved deeper: reports by Dr. Zola from the creation of the Winter Soldier.

At some point, he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by memories of Afghanistan. He could feel the cold of the cave and the rush of the water…

And he wished so desperately, that everything could just, for once, be easier.

* * *

Bucky woke with a jerk, soaked in sweat and his heart racing. He was out of bed and already prepared to fight, when the darkness and emptiness of the room washed over him and his brain caught up with his instincts.

A nightmare. That's all it was. One awful, rotten nightmare. He closed his eyes and focused on trying to calm his breath, trying to stop the mad racing in his chest.

It had felt so real…

Probably because at one point it had been real.

His eyes flew open again. The darkness felt oppressive. He switched on the bedside table light. That was a little better.

He rolled his eyes at himself. Seriously, he needed a nightlight now?

No, what he needed was a drink. It wouldn't do much good…but at least it would have the hint of normalcy.

He grabbed his pants and shirt and dressed quickly, before heading out to the kitchen. He froze for a moment on the threshold. The kitchen was not empty. Sitting at the table was Brock, a bottle in one hand, a book laid out in front of him. It was two in the morning; the man should be asleep, thought Bucky annoyed.

Not the person who he wanted to see right now. Frankly he didn't want to see anyone at all. But pride refused to turn around. So he stalked over to the fridge, noticing the tensing in Brock's shoulders when he realized he was there, and grabbed a beer out of the fridge.

He started pulling open drawers looking for the opener.

"Here."

Bucky turned. Brock held a bottle opener out to him. There was a beat, then Bucky took it. "Thanks." As he reached for it, he noticed Brock tense again, just a little.

He took a swig of his drink and then leaned back against the counter. His pulse was still racing and he suspected it would be the rest of the night.

A flash of the nightmare swam before him, blood and guts. His metal fist hitting, digging into broken flesh-

He pulled himself to the present, and because flight or fight were battling it out inside of him right now, he dived into the latter.

"You don't like me here," he said flatly. Brock looked up from his book. "You tense whenever I'm around. Why? You think I'm dangerous?"

"I know you're dangerous. I've seen up close and personal how dangerous you can be."

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah I guess you have. So what? You think I'm going to flip out? Lose control?"

"Not exactly."

"What then?"

Brock leaned back in his chair. "Some of those bases we're going after might not be empty. There might be a fight. And now you're coming with us, I could end up in a situation where I'm supposed to trust that you have my back. But I can think of quite a few reasons why you're more likely to shoot me in it than watch it."

"Ah. You think I'm going to go for revenge? For all those times you could have helped me and you never did?"

Brock snorted. "If you're trying to make me feel guilt or elicit an apology, you're wasting your breath. Everything I did, everything _you did_, it was worth it. The only regret _I _have, is that Hydra fell at all."

"Oh." There was a deadly, steely glint in Bucky's eyes. "Glad you get to be the one to decide what was worth it. Tell me, if that's the way you feel," he set the beer down and crossed his arms, "why should I trust you to have my back if it comes to that? What are you even doing here? Why aren't you out there with Strucker and the rest of Hydra, trying to pull it back together?"

"I'm not suicidal enough to sign up for lost causes. And thanks to your precious Captain America, Hydra's on its last legs. Sorry, but I'm mercenary enough to jump ship when needs must."

"Mercenary enough? Is that it? You talk a big game but at the end of the day it all comes down to what you can get? Is that what you joined for? The paycheck? Is that what was so worthwhile about Hydra that what we did was 'worth it'?"

"No!" Brock spat, surging to his feet, his fist clinched. Bucky instantly shifted postures, ready for a fight. But Brock's fight seemed to leave him at once. He fell back down into his chair, apparently perfectly relaxed and at ease, stretching his legs out and crossing them. He took a swig of his beer. It was all a little too overdone. Even if he hadn't seen that brief loss of control, Bucky would have known it was fake.

"So what was it? How does someone make the choice?" asked Bucky, the viciousness still in his voice, but forcing himself to return to a more neutral posture. "Why'd you join? Why were you recruited into Hydra?"

There was a very long pause, during which Brock rolled his beer bottle back and forth between his palms. Bucky doubted that the man was going to respond. He felt a flicker of anger and resentment and then suddenly Brock began to talk. He didn't look at Bucky as he did so. He stared off, unseeingly into the distance. His voice was so thoroughly exhausted as he did speak, that Bucky wondered how many nights he could be found out here at two in the morning, drinking alone at the kitchen table.

"I joined the army when I was eighteen. Had a stepdad I wanted to get away from and I had an uncle who'd served. He was the only person in my family who gave a crap about me. He died when I was twelve. But I never forgot the stories he told me. He was the most honorable man I ever knew and I wanted to be like him." He took a swig from his beer. "My unit saw a lot of action. We had a lot of good men. Lost a lot of good men. I was twenty-four when it happened. We were ambushed one night. It was a massacre. My squadron got cut off. Only five of us made it out alive. We were deep in enemy territory, no way for help to reach us.

"There was a mountain range. If we could get through that, we'd been in neutral grounds. Could get picked up. I was twenty-four and the most senior soldier left standing. I was in charge. Couldn't contact base. We were on our own. Two men badly wounded. One kid just eighteen. I had to lead. I had to make the tough calls.

"We had to go through the mountains but we knew there were armed terrorists there. We just didn't know where or what paths were safe. But there was a village not far from there. Oh just women, children, and men too old and weak to carry a gun. But they supplied the guerillas in the mountains. They knew where the soldiers were. They could tell us how to avoid them. But they weren't keen on that idea."

Brock took another swig. Bucky noticed that he kept clinching and unclenching one fist. "I wasn't going to lose any more men. And Frank didn't have a lot of time left. We had to get him to medical help and soon…so I made the villagers talk. Shoot a few, and they start to talk. Of course they lied. Their initial directions would have sent us right into the enemy camps. But you take the ones who talk, separate them, torture them, and you compare their stories. You get the truth…" His jaw worked. "But you can't leave them. Not when you have to move two wounded men who are going to slow you down. Not when every one of them can navigate those mountains at a speed you couldn't manage even if you weren't already exhausted and broken. I got our directions…and then I wiped the village out. It was the only way. We'd never have made it through the mountains alive otherwise.

"Of course, that was it for my men. They'd never accept what I had to do. And they shouldn't. It wasn't their call. It wasn't their choice to live with. There's more peace in rejecting and condemning. I was the one in commend. Not some eighteen year old kid. I'm glad he _could_ come out of it intact enough to be appalled at the choice I had to make. Maybe he's actually got a life now, huh?"

Brock finished his drink. "We got through those mountains. Every last one of us. We got back to civilization and to base. The story got told. Not sure what would have come of it. If I'd have been made a hero or a villain. Maybe no one, but the one who had to make the call, could ever condone it. Who knows and who cares? I didn't do it for the legacy that would follow. I did it because my one and only priority in that moment, was to save my men, men who relied on me, men who had already been through hell, men who had wives and kids and parents. Men I _was_ going to see home."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Somehow the story got back to Hydra. I think they kept an eye on the military, good recruiting grounds, and they had several generals on their side to make it easy. I got pulled in and offered a job. Because they saw I could make the tough calls and they _respected _that. Because I'd demonstrated that I understood that sometimes…pain is the only way."

At last he pulled his gaze back towards Bucky. "You do what you've got to do. I haven't seen those men since the day I joined Hydra. But I think about them. Hydra pulled strings. Got them shipped home. My, uh, signing bonus shall we say? They've got lives. Maybe I gave them a few nightmares. But the people who loved them got to hold 'em again. And I'll never regret that. I'll never say I made the wrong call."

Bucky and he stared at each other.

"You want an apology?" asked Brock, with a sneer he was trying so desperately to hide behind. "You want me to say I regret joining Hydra? Hydra was trying to create a world in which those choices I had to make wouldn't exist anymore. People made this world. And whatever Hydra did, it wasn't worse than what has already been done by everyone else…except it sought to end the madness not just make more of it. And we were so close with Project Insight, we were so close…but thanks to Steve bloody Rogers and friends, Hydra is so smashed up that it all it has left are its death throes...and where does that leave the world? In the same ugly mess it was before."

Bucky stared down at his crossed arms, metal folded over flesh.

"I lived, and fought, through World War II," He said slowly. "I saw enough death and carnage and atrocities that I could almost agree with you. Almost agree that to create a world where that never happens again, is worth any price. The problem is I was one of the ones who had to pay Hydra's price. The good of many at the expense of the few sounds like simple math, until you're stuck living as the few. Which is why you saved your men in the first place."

Bucky grabbed the beer he'd set down on the counter and returned to his room. Alone in the kitchen, Brock buried his face in his hands and wished, not for the first time, that that bloody building had finished its job when it fell on him. It would have been so much easier.


	25. Chapter 25: Starts

Somewhere deep in the Congo, Brock looking through the binoculars and surveyed the base below them, and made the announcement: "It looks deserted. None of the vehicles have been moved in some time."

There was a woosh as Pietro reached them. "I saw nothing."

Clint nodded. "Right. We'll move in. Keep your eyes open. Even if it's probably deserted, doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared just in case."

They approached slowly, but as they neared the compound there was still no sign of life, and the cameras over the front door were clearly dead. Brock tried the front door and it swung open.

"Seems all clear."

"Stay on the alert. Strucker had the base on alert in Sokovia but it's always possible there's other Hydra hiding out here."

They entered, cautiously. But dust lay on the ground and there was no sign of it having been disturbed recently.

"Pietro, Brock, and I will take this floor and the second," said Clint. "Bucky, Wanda, you got the basement levels?"

Bucky nodded, and raised his machine gun to his shoulder.

He took the stairs down, Wanda just a little behind. He could hear the thrum of her power as it sparked at her fingertips, ready and waiting. As the pair reached the basement level he nodded towards one set of rooms and she moved slowly and carefully towards them, while he took the other row.

The first and second rooms were both fairly bare. He stepped into the third, automatically checked the corners, and was just about to turn and leave when his attention was grabbed by the object in the back.

The chair stood there. Bucky felt something inside him constrict and his breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps. And for the first time he truly appreciated the fact that for all the gifts having his memories back might bring, it could also be a curse. Staring at the chair a flood overbore him, sweeping him back into countless flashes of agonizing, excruciating pain. Pain so lacerating it had elicited screams from a man trained to ignore pain, a man trained to endure in silence.

He could feel his head being clamped down and the horrible dichotomy of wanting to break away from the pain that he could remember even through all the memory wipes and the complete inability to break from orders.

One wouldn't have thought imagination was a thing he could still process, but apparently he did, for as he stared at the chair he imagined that it was waiting for him. Waiting for him to be thrust back into it and once again have his mind taken and wiped and shattered-

A jet of red energy shot past him and rammed into the chair, sending a hunk flying and hitting the back wall with a resounding crash. He jerked and turned.

Wanda stood in the doorway, inches behind him, hand raised. She met his gaze. "I do not like the chair."

He blinked at her. His breath was still coming a little too quickly.

"They put Clint into it in Sokovia. I did not like it then," she said. "I saw them put you into it in your memories. I like it less. They will not do it again." It was a promise. There was another jet of red, larger this time, that sent the rest of the chair and chunks of the concrete that it had been drilled into, flying back. It was destroyed past anything resembling a chair now.

Bucky blinked. "Thank you."

She nodded, and turning, returning to the search.

Bucky turned back to look into the room. There were twisted shards of metal, concrete strewn along the back of the wall, and dust filled the air. And he found his heart had stopped racing. He turned his back on the room and continued the search.

* * *

It took about forty-five minutes to clear the rest of the building. There was no sign that Hydra had been here recently.

"Great, well this was a wasted trip," said Brock, as they met back up at the entrance.

"Hey, now you can say you've been to the Congo," said Pietro brightly. "I'd never been to Africa before."

"I have, so forgive me if I'm not thrilled by the excursion."

"You are a very grumpy old man."

Clint let out a snort of uncontainable laughter as Brock stared at Pietro in no little amount of fury.

"Did you just call me old?"

"Don't take it personal Brock," said Clint, patting him on the shoulder. "I think he considers everyone over twenty-five to be old. Come on, we've still got an hour's hike back to the jeeps."

Leaving the compound, they started trudging back through the rain forest. It was slow going. The compound had been designed to be primarily reached via air and the one road out of it had already started to be reclaimed by nature.

Bucky kept running the encounter with the chair over and over again in his head. He was shocked at his own reaction. Shocked that he could be so easily shaken… He glanced towards Wanda. She hadn't said anything during the rest of the search…

They had been walking for about twenty minutes in comparative silence, when Pietro made an announcement. "I have a question."

"Hmm?" asked Clint, only half listening.

"There's five of us now. That's basically a team. Shouldn't we have a name?"

"Oh!" Wanda brightened. "Yes! We really should."

"We don't need a name," said Brock flatly.

"The Avengers have a name," Pietro argued.

"We are _not_ the Avengers."

"Of course not. That name is already taken."

"We could be something like The Aviary or the Flock," suggested Wanda brightly.

"What?" Clint blinked.

"Really commit to the bird theme with Hawkeye. We could even all take bird names!"

"No!" said Brock flatly and appalled, while Clint broke into laughter.

"I'm with Brock," said Bucky. "I'm not going to be a 'flock' of anything."

"Well it was just one suggestion," said Wanda, "you're more than welcome to make your own suggestions."

"We're not even going to _have_ this conversation," said Brock acidly.

"How about The Rogues Gallery?" said Pietro. "Since we've all been connected to Hydra in one way or another? A name that captures that we've been outside the law."

"A little long perhaps…" said Wanda thoughtfully.

"All right, how about The Rogues then?"

"Oh I like it!"

"I am never working with children again," said Brock flatly, and picking up the pace, walked on ahead in a huff.

"Between us," said Clint, watching Brock's retreating back. "There's no way I'm going by The Rogues. But whenever Brock's around, have at it."

* * *

The elevator slid open and Tony entered the common room. He looked around, noted Nat and Bruce over on the sofas and then caught sight of who he was looking for: Steve was leaning against the counter waiting for the coffee to finish making.

As Tony came towards him, the two on the couch looked up apprehensively, but Steve didn't. He looked exhausted, but…that was all. He was tired. Whatever fight was in him seemed to have temporarily deserted him.

"Did Rhodey get back to you?" asked Tony.

"Yes. Thank you. I know he wouldn't be helping if you hadn't asked him to."

Tony shrugged. "Rhodey's a big boy. He can make his own decisions."

"Still. If you'd asked him not to, he wouldn't have done it."

Tony stared at him for a long moment and wondered, for perhaps the first time, what it must really be like to be a man out of time? A man who had truly and literally lost everything and had to start anew? No wonder he was so desperate to find Barnes, the last link to a past that everyone else had forgotten and no longer cared about.

He sighed and pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Steve.

Taking it, Steve frowned. "What's this?"

"Pepper's assistant. I talked to Pepper about it. The guy has been briefed and he's going to put you in touch with some contacts we've got. Star Industries knows a lot of people, all over the world, in every type of business. He's been authorized to give you every assistance in your search."

Steve stared at him. "Are you…sure about this Tony?"

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm not saying I'm going to make Barnes my new best friend when you find him but...I'll try for a little perspective. It's not like he's the only one who's gotten people's parents killed." He felt a flash of guilt and shoved it away. If this was the amends he had to make for his past, well…he wasn't sure if he'd actually be able to see it through in the long run, but he'd try.

"Tony..."

Tony waved it away. "Besides, being angry all the time, not that helpful. I spent a lot of years being angry about a lot of things surrounding my parents, and none of it ever did me any good. So call the dude and…good luck. I hope you find Barnes."

"…Thank you, Tony. I mean it. I'm sorry if…I'm sorry I didn't handle this as well as I could have."

"Well to be fair, how to handle looking for your best friend you fought with in World War II and thought had died but in fact had been captured and turned into a super assassin by Hydra and then used to kill your teammate's parents, isn't covered by a lot of how to guides. No idea why." He flashed a quick, strained, smile. "Anyways, I'm going back to the lab. Working on a suit upgrade. Bruce? Welcome down any time." He winked at Steve with a bigger, longer smile this time and said in a mock whisper: "He's always uncomfortable down there when things are tense up here." He raised his voice. "All good now. Feel free to join when you want."

Bruce rolled his eyes.

* * *

Bucky knocked on the bedroom door.

"Come in!"

Wanda was sitting on the floor, red energy swirling from her fingertips, as books floated around her.

"Wow," he said, shutting the door behind him. "Impressive."

The books fell to the floor and she looked up at him. "Just practicing."

"You seem to practice a lot."

She shrugged. "I guess I feel like I have to." She raised a hand, sparks dancing. "At the end of the day, everything about Pietro's and my powers…is still so uncertain. So unknown."

"Are you scared?" he asked, interestedly.

"I'm not sure I'm the one that should be scared."

"Well I was scared." She looked up at him sharply. He came further into the room and crouched down where she sat. "I was scared this morning when I looked at that chair. It wasn't rational. I knew the compound was likely empty. I knew I had four teammates backing me up. And I knew that for the first time in a long time, I had the power to fight. But I looked at that chair and suddenly I was reliving every bit of fear it had ever instilled in me. Back when I couldn't fight."

"You can now."

"Thanks to you. And…thank you, for this morning. Once again, you brought me sanity when I needed it."

She smiled. "Glad I could help."

He rose. He stared to turn and then stopped. "Oh, and you're right. You're not the one who should be sacred. Hydra is. Seeing your power, only a little in action, makes me feel pretty good about our prospects when we do run into an occupied base."

Wanda hesitated and then, burst out with: "I've never actually been in a fight. Not a real one. Pietro and I, before we got our powers, were caught in some demonstrations that went violent, but that's not the same. And we got Clint out of the Sokovia base but…that's not quite the same either. We were fleeing. A real fight…I admit, I don't know how I'll react."

He crouched back down. "You want some training?"

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. With your abilities, you should be fine. But you can best learn how to use those abilities, once you know the basics to begin with."

"I'd like that." She nodded. "Thank you."

"Good. We'll start tomorrow."


	26. Chapter 26: Training

Bucky led Wanda into the abandoned warehouse and tossed his jacket to one side.

"This should work," he said.

"What is this place?"

"Old Hydra warehouse. Obviously, out of use now." He turned to her. "You ready?"

"Yes. I want to learn how to fight."

He smiled. "Okay. Well then. You have powers. Very formidable powers. And maybe those alone are everything you need to facedown Hydra agents. But let's be honest, this world is getting crazier every day and it's not outside of the realm of possibility anymore that you could come across a threat at some point that's has powers too."

"So….I learn to fight? If they have powers, is throwing a punch really going to make a difference?"

Bucky held up his metal arm. "This, as much as I hate it and everything it represents, it's also an asset." He hesitated a minute, the word 'asset' leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. He'd heard himself called that one too many times to be able to use the word without a flicker of something deeply unpleasant in the pit of his stomach. "Well it's useful. Its punch is a lot stronger than my own arm, sends a regular enemy staggering. It can be used for traction or to grab something that, if I tried to do it with my other arm, would probably pull it out of its socket. It can literally stop bullets. It tips a fight in my favor. _But _to use it effectively, I need to know how to fight to begin with. I need to know how to spot weaknesses and openings. If I didn't, if I just went wailing into a fight, metal first, I'd take out some threats. But at the end of the day, someone with better science, with a better eye, someone who knew what they were doing could get under my defenses. Because I'd be sloppy. I'd open myself up. What you need, is to know how to fight, so you know how to best integrate _your_ abilities into the battle. How to react and how to respond. You need to learn your own weaknesses so that you know how others will try to get under your defenses and you can counter that and in turn get under theirs. And _how_ to get under theirs."

Wanda reached out and ran s forefinger over the metal. "I think you underestimate what it represents."

He met her gaze for a moment and gently taking hold of both her wrists, moved her hands into position. "Okay. Starting stance…"

* * *

"Agent Romanoff…Agent Romanoff?"

Nat reached for the alarm clock on the nightstand. It read two thirty in the morning. She let out a groan.

"Agent Romanoff?"

"Jarvis, is you're waking me up cause of some prank by Stark, I am going to kill you both. Just so you know. I will absolutely consider you an accessory."

"No, Agent Romanoff. I am sorry to wake you but there is a phone call waiting for you on your private line. You said to always put those through."

She sat up sharply. Very, very few people had that number. Most of the Avengers…well, now that Clint was off the team, none of Avengers, even had it.

"Put it through."

"Right away."

There was a pause and then a young, boy's voice came over the speaker. "Aunt Nat?"

Nat started. "Cooper?"

"Uh…hi."

In one split second Nat had time to feel all the dread and fear of all the potential reasons Cooper could be calling, of all the things that could have gone horribly wrong at the farm house. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah everything's fine. I just…really wanted to talk to you. I miss you."

She relaxed, a flicker of a smile playing on her lips. "I miss you too Cooper…" She looked at the clock again and frowned "Shouldn't you be asleep though?"

They'd teamed up on too many pranks for Cooper to have the least bit of guilt in his voice when he answered: "I'm in the barn. I snuck out here after mom went to bed. I didn't think she'd let me call you." There was a long pause. "Do you hate me, too?"

"What? No. Of course not. Cooper I- I could never hate you."

"But you hate dad."

"I don't-" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't hate your father. It's just…complicated."

"Are you ever going to visit again?"

"I don't know," she said, honestly, unable to bring herself to give him false promises.

"You know," said Cooper, reluctantly, as if he were dragging the words out of him, afraid of how she'd respond, "when Lila and I fought, and I said I'd never forgive her…_you_ said what we had was too important…we were family."

"I said that, huh?"

"And you're family, aren't you? You're Aunt Nat."

"I- Cooper. I will always be your Aunt Nat. But what you dad did-" She stopped herself. She'd seen Cooper look up at his father too many times with respect and unwaveringly love to want to shake that. She wondered what he already knew. But there was no denying that at some point he'd probably know it all. Perhaps he'd believe the lie the Avenger's had put out. She almost hoped he would. The idea of shaking that faith; she found that it broke her heart.

"I know," he said softly. She thought she heard him sniff a little. "I know what he did. And I'm really, really sorry."

"Cooper," she said, with iron firmness. "_You_, you sister, you mother, none of you have anything to be sorry about. You have to know that. What happened with your father is between me and him. _Not_ you and me. _Never_ you and me. Okay?"

There was a long pause and then. "Okay."

"Good…" She chewed her lip. "How is your father?"

"Hmm, last time he came back he seemed…pretty good."

"Came back? What do you mean came back?" She'd leaned back against the pillows but at this she sat bolt upright. "Isn't he at the farm?"

"Uh no. I thought- Mom said he was off making things right. Working. Uh, should I not have told you?"

She could hear the immediate guilt in his voice and as her own thoughts ran a mile a minute she hastened to assure him, "No that's okay. If your mom knows what's going on, it's no problem. Don't worry."

The was a solid ten seconds of silence.

"….I got a new bike."

"Really? What color?"

"Black and red…I named it the Black Widow."

She chuckled. "I bet it's really cool."

For the next ten minutes he told her about the farm, about Lila, about the new calf that had just been born. At last he sighed and said, "I'd better get back. Before mom wakes up and sees the phone line is busy."

"Yeah. Good to talk to you."

"You too. I miss you…I really hope you come back soon."

She couldn't make a promise. So instead she said, "Call any time." And he hung up.

* * *

Bucky punched and Wanda ducked, a second punch which she neatly blocked. She attempted to kick but he caught it, and threw the kick back which sent her staggering and the metal fist came towards her. A sense of being cornered suddenly overwhelmed her.

Instinctually, she shoved away, not from him but from the floor, red sparks taking her up and away several feet into the air, back, and to the ground again.

Bucky stopped, staring as Wanda herself stared at her own palms.

"You can fly?" he said, blinking in surprise.

"I-…apparently. I- I hadn't done it before. I just…reacted."

He grinned. "That's good. That's really good. You reacted. You integrated your powers, your abilities, with your skills…and learned something new while you were at it."

"I'm not sure I'd say _skills_," she said playfully.

"Trust me you did really, really well. And that," he gestured up and back down to where she stood, "was incredible."

"I…I'm not even sure how I did it."

"You'll learn. You'll master it. You'll control it."

Wanda stared back down at her palms. "Doesn't it scare you? Even a little?" she asked softly. "I can enter men's minds. I've entered yours. I can rip metal and concrete. And now apparently I can fly. That _should _scare you."

Suddenly one flesh and one metal hand were covering her palms and she looked up to see he was standing in front of her.

"You've seen in my mind," he said, "I've known monsters…you are not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because while you saw in my mind…I saw in yours. And I _know_."


	27. Chapter 27: Dinner

Natasha pulled the car up outside the large warehouse compound and got out. There was the sound of construction and workers, and she looked at her phone again to double-check that she had the right place. But the address matched.

Going through the front door, she spotted Fury standing to one side, surveying the work being done.

"Fury?"

He turned. "Agent Romanoff."

Temporarily distracted from what had brought her here, she looked around. "What is this place?"

"They were warehouses. Stark is having them refitted as a compound for the Avengers. He thought a base out of the city would be safer both for the Avengers and for the city. And he thought it could be used by…well, not exactly Shield, but for what's left of us."

"He never mentioned it."

"I think there are a lot of things Stark doesn't mention. Good and bad. Now what was so important you needed to talk to me at once?"

She looked round. "Not here. Somewhere private and secure."

He nodded and led her away from the main room, down a hall, and into an empty room. "Well?"

Nat crossed her arms and frowned. "I got a call from Cooper Barton last night."

She saw him tense, almost imperceptivity. Anyone else wouldn't have thought the words had affected him in the least. But she recognized the immediate corner. "Is everything all right at the farm?"

"Yeah. It's fine. But he happened to mentioned that Clint's _not there._" Fury seemed singularly unimpressed by this, so she continued, "We both know there are pockets of Hydra left. If Clint went to them, not even mentioning the damage it could cause if people find out and Tony's little story he sold the press is torn to shreds, the damage he could do working by continuing to work for them-"

"Barton isn't off helping Hydra. Barton's off on a mission for me."

Natasha blinked. "What? You sent him on a mission?"

"Yes. It was dangerous and you weren't thinking clearly enough to be trusted with it and not get yourself killed. The Avengers were splintering. And Barton proved he was the man I thought he was."

"How…?"

"By trying to make things right. There _are_ pockets of Hydra left and Barton started cleaning them up. People make mistakes. Barton made mistakes. You let him go back home. He could have stayed there. He chose not to. He chose to fix his mistakes."

"He's…really working for you?"

"Yes. I know he betrayed your trust. Mine too. But I think he's trying to make up for that in the only way people like us really know how. I'm not saying killing Hydra agents is the healthiest way but….this has never exactly been a healthy business," he said a little drily. The corner of Nat's lip twitched.

* * *

Bucky pulled the car around back of the safe house and got out, Wanda following suit. She came round to meet him at the driver's door.

"Thank you," she said, "for today."

"You did great."

"It was actually fun. Not just the flying bit. Though that was pretty enjoyable. All of it. It felt…good. To fight. To feel…_in control_." And with that, much to his surprise, she took control again and, stepping forward, kissed him.

For a full second he stood there, her lips on his, his brain not quite up to processing the first kiss he'd had in over sixty years. And then a long buried part of him remembered that this was something he knew, something that once upon a time, he'd actually been pretty good at. And a much more recent part of him realized he was not indifferent to Wanda. It had just been so long, so many, many years since he even had the language to consider ideas of attraction, feelings or love. They were all things Hydra hadn't had need for, so they'd been thrown out with the rest of Bucky Barnes.

It was probably the heady rush of realization of having that control back again, of having choice, that he met her kiss back with one of his own, one hand snaking around her waist and the other reaching up to cup her face…but it was only for a flash of a moment. As he realized it was his metal fingers touching her skin, he let go of her and pulled back abruptly.

She blinked, a look of obvious hurt and embarrassment in her expression. She opened her mouth to say something, seemed unable to come up with the words, and so shut it again.

He hated it. He hated that with the rush of ideas roaring through him right now, he couldn't put any of them into words and so she was just going to assume the worst about herself. Because he saw so clearly that she didn't realize that every one of the reasons why he'd stopped had to do with himself and not one with her.

She gave a weak smile, and stepped away, starting to head back into the house.

"Wanda," he called after her.

She turned back. "It's okay Bucky, you don't have to say anything."

"Would you like to get dinner tonight? Go out somewhere?"

Surprise flickered in her expression. "I…okay." She nodded.

* * *

The shower was running. Clint had turned it on to the mask the sound of his voice from the rest of the house, as he sat on the bathroom floor and talked to Laura.

"Yes," she was saying, "the doctor said everything was good. _And_, it's a boy. We're going to have another son."

"Lila is going to be disappointed."

"I don't know. I think she likes being the only daddy's girl in the house."

"How's Coop?"

"He's…okay."

"What's wrong?"

"…I think he's been a little sad lately. I don't know. He's not really talking to me. I tried but I don't want to push."

Clint nodded. "When I get back, I'll take him camping for a couple nights."

"You and your camping trips."

"It's worked in the past."

"If you ever write a parenting book, every chapter will just be, 'your kid has this issue? Take 'em camping and they'll spill their guts to you by the time the weekend is over'," she teased.

"Hey, name _one_ time it didn't work."

"Wait till they're all eighteen before you start to crow. There is still _plenty_ of time for it to fail on you."

They chatted a few more minutes, then Laura hung up. Clint took a quick shower so as not to raise suspicions, and then came out, heading to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Brock was already there, making one for himself.

"Hey," said Brock casually, as Clint dug into the fridge. "So…how was Laura?"

Clint started and stared at him. "What? What are you talking about?"

Brock rolled his eyes. "Come on. You don't take forty-five minute showers…_typically_. And even Pierce never bought that you two broke up. I'm not asking where you've got her; I'm just asking how she is."

Clint hesitated and then sighed. Brock had a point and besides…someone else might say he was crazy for doing so, but he trusted Brock. Someone else would probably have said he was crazy for ever bringing Nat to the farm, but that had been one of the better decisions he had ever made.

"She's good." He shut the fridge and leaned against the door. He smiled to himself. "She's been incredible during this whole thing."

"This whole thing as in…?"

"Finding out I was Hydra."

"Ah. That whole thing."

"…we've having a baby."

"What?!" Brock had carried his plate over to the table, but at this glanced up, shocked. "You're serious?"

"Actually…it's going to be kid number three," admitted Clint, ruefully.

"You're a _dad_? Man. I can't even wrap my head around that."

"You and me both, sometimes. Why did fighting off an alien invasion feel so much easier? Or at least like the consequences of screwing up isn't quite so horrible." Brock snorted, and Clint went back to making his sandwich. As he brought it towards the table, he realized that the house seemed awfully quiet. "Where is everyone?"

"Well, Wanda and Bucky went off to dinner and Pietro went for 'a walk'. I'm not sure he liked the idea of the dinner very much."

"Wait. Dinner as in…a dinner _date_?"

"Unclear. Very unclear. I for one though, am very excited to watch the whole thing implode beautifully."

* * *

It felt incredibly surreal to be sitting down at a restaurant, looking over a menu, ordering what he wanted, and then turning back to Wanda. He might have been out of Hydra control for some time now, but going out to dinner at a restaurant had not exactly been the type of evening he'd had during that time on the run.

They were sitting outside, the air hot and sticky, Congolese music playing from the other side of the restaurant, a tall wall built around the garden to block out the city, and the scent of flowers on the air. It wasn't anything like any place he'd ever been to the last time he'd been on a date but…it was familiar enough to give him the strangest since of surreal-ness and déjà vu.

Wanda had been oddly quiet on the drive over, and was still oddly quiet, leaning back in her chair, fiddling with her fork. He hoped this hadn't been a horrible idea. But then…she'd kissed him hadn't she?

"Is…everything all right?" he asked.

She looked up, took a breath, and then with the air of one taking a plunge, "This isn't necessary."

"Excuse me?"

"It's thoughtful. And nice. But, it's okay you know. I kissed you, you weren't interested, that's enough. You didn't have to bring me here to talk about it or let me down. We're teammates," she said, more confidently now, "and friends." She flickered a smile at him. "It's okay."

"That's…why you think I brought you to dinner?"

"Isn't it?"

"Brock is also a teammate and I'm not bringing _him _to dinner. No. Wanda, I brought you to dinner because I _was_ interested."

"You pulled away."

"I...I did. But then it was my first kiss since the 40's…and…" He sighed. "You know what I've done and what's been done to me. Balancing that with…well _wanting_ something good. Isn't always easy. And Wanda, even not counting the time I spent in cryo, I'm older than you. And…you know what I've been through. That brings with it certain responsibilities not to rush it."

She was smiling now, and leaning across the table. "What if I want to rush it?"

"Well, truth is, I don't." He smiled back at her. "I know this is going to sound very corny to a girl of the 21st century, but back in my day we courted girls. We took 'em out, we treated them like…we treated them like ladies. It's how my mother taught me. Well I may have done a few things my mother never taught me, but I'm only admitting that off the record. And you know what? I liked it. I liked going out to dinner. I liked dancing. I liked walking a girl to the door and hoping for a goodnight kiss. It was normal. I miss normal. Hydra took normal away from me. And you gave it back. I want to enjoy it. What it is. And however long it lasts."

Wanda looked away. "I'm not normal. Not anymore."

"You're better than normal. You're a fire. The kind that saves lives when everything else is frozen."

"Am I?" She looked back at him. "I used to think of myself one way. But now…after Hydra… I am something else. And still me, I think. But is that really what I am or just how I want to be? And what about what others will see?"

He held up his metal arm, which was currently gloved to avoid attention. "I know what it's like to feel…different. To be turned into something you're not. Into something you were never meant to be. But you…I think this is what you've always been. Deep down. And Hydra never changed you. You saved Clint's life in Sokovia. You've saved mine. And I think you'll save a lot more people before you're done."

"I'd like that."

* * *

"What's all this?" asked Steve, stepping into the common room. The rest of the team was already there, and several trays of food had been set up on the counter near the bar. "I thought there was a team meeting?"

"There is," said Tony, "I just thought I'd have it catered. Grab a plate, serve yourself, and bring it over." He himself had already gotten a plate of food, and plopped down onto one of the sofas.

Nat was sitting near him, looking distractedly out the window, but for the most part everyone seemed relaxed and just…happy that things were feeling normal. Steve got himself some food and joined the others around the coffee table. "So what's the meeting about?"

"Well, Pepper really should be the one to go over this, but she's busy you know, running my company, so." Tony pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and opened it on the coffee table, "Essentially, we're doing good. We came off hard and strong on the Clint story and the approval ratings, which took an initial massive hit at his exposure, are climbing back up, and we've won the support back from the government."

"Good? I guess?"

"Since there was talk in some quarters of attempts to impose restrictions and committees on us, I'd say yeah, good."

Bruce looked up sharply. "There was?"

"Hey, like I said, they've backed off. So we're mostly good, but now it's time for the charm initiative."

"Is that not what we were already doing?"

"Not even a little bit. We now move on to charity events, galas, photo ops. The really boring part of trying to fix a hole in your reputation. Trust me on this, I know. By the time we're through we'll probably all want to join Hydra and burn the world to the ground before we put on another tux. Speaking of, I've ordered all of you tuxes…er, ladies excluded. I trusted Nat to do her own shopping. Not that she couldn't pull off a tux"

This did bring Nat out of whatever reverie she'd been in. "In more ways than one."

Tony grinned. "Anyways, next weekend, we have a charity gala and I expect everyone to be there, to be presentable, _and_ to be on their best behavior." He glared all around. "Do not make me the responsible one of the team. I'm fairly sure I'm allergic. Dates are allowed, but remember there will be press there so you might not want to bring one. Any questions?"

Nat smiled at him sweetly. "Are guns allowed? I may have to shoot something if I'm going to make it through an entire gala and not die of boredom."

"No. But don't worry. You will have the comfort of knowing you died for the good of the team."

From there, they took turns asking Tony steadily more ridiculous questions and everyone laughed just a little too much at the silliness of it. But they only did so because it felt _good_ to laugh together again. To sit around and share a meal. To feel like a team once more.

* * *

As Bucky held open the front door for Wanda, and they both entered the safe house, he adamantly refused to look over in the direction of the kitchen dining room area and acknowledge the presence of anyone there. As the two reached the other end of the living room Wanda turned to him, smiled and said, "Thank you, for everything," then with a hint of wink, added, "And for walking me to the door." She then leaned forward and quickly kissed him on the cheek before disappearing though the door and down the hall towards her room. Bucky would have liked to have retreated to his own room but thought it only right to give her a minute to reach hers first. It was... definitely a little awkward, he had to acknowledge, coming back from a date when you were both staying in the same safe house.

He turned, with the intention of grabbing a beer from the fridge, when there was a whoosh and Pietro was standing in front of him, arms crossed.

Bucky tensed automatically.

Pietro frowned at him. "If you hurt her, I will kill you." And before Bucky could say a word, he stalked off.

At the dining table, sharing a bottle of whiskey, Clint and Brock sat, watching the scene with very evident amusement.

Bucky glared at them both. "Not. One. Word."

Brock shrugged. "I didn't say anything, did you Clint?"

"Nope. Just sitting here, enjoying my drink."

There was a beat. "But you know," continued Brock. "You shouldn't feel too bad about it. I know, only a peck on the cheek, not a good sign. But you haven't been on a date in over sixty years. It's normal to be a bit rusty."

"Brock!" Clint chided. "You're making assumptions…he might not have any experience at all. This could be his first date ever."

"He should have come to us. We could have given him pointers."

"I'll have you know," said Bucky, unable to stop himself, "both in Brooklyn and in the army, I had no problem getting dates, thank you very much."

Brock shook his head sadly. "Tsk. A ladies man."

"Pietro's not going to like that."

"You two, are the literal worst. And I'm going to bed." As Bucky stalked out of the room, Clint and Brock burst into laughter.

**AN: Was it *worth* pushing the climax of the story back just so I could get Bucky and Wanda together? I don't know. All I can say is I became unaccountably interested in getting this AU version of them both together and so I did it.**


	28. Chapter 28: The Past

Brock absent mildly pushed a chair over with the toe of his boot and slung his gun behind his back.

"And another empty, dusty base," he said, surveying one of the large deserted rooms of the base with disfavor. "What, that makes seven now? Not that I'm complaining."

"_You?_ Of course not," said Clint, rolling his eyes. Setting his bow down, he took a seat in one of the abandoned chairs, and started to tap his fingers impatiently. "I just wish we could narrow things down a bit faster without going to every single base."

"We're not just finding no trace of Strucker, we're not finding trace of anybody having even thought about these places in months."

The others had gathered in the room by this point, having finished their survey of the base. Bucky crossed his arms and leaned back against one wall. "Well, if you have a suggestion of a better way to work through the list…"

"Maybe we shouldn't be starting with the Africa bases." Brock turned to Clint. "Sokovia is former Soviet Union. Maybe Strucker is more likely to have moved to another former Soviet base. After all, his work in Sokovia is more likely to have brought him in contact with other bases in the same political region than in say," he waved a hand, taking in the base around them, "a base in Burkina Faso."

Clint considered it. "You may have a point. We started with these since they had an easier time staying off the radar but we should consider which ones Strucker is more likely to have encountered." He turned to Bucky. "The list is back at the safe house. But I'm assuming there are quite a few bases in the former Soviet Union area on there?"

Bucky set his jaw, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thought he knew where this would end and it left a sick, twisted feeling that he hadn't had since Wanda first cleared his mind. "A number."

Clint nodded. "Maybe we should try those for a while then. We can look over the list when we get back and maybe you can consider which one might be best suited to Strucker's purposes."

There was a pause, Bucky considering whether or not to say anything. But then did it really matter if he answered the question now or after he pretended to peruse the list. He knew the answer without looking over it. He could lie of course; maybe they'd find Strucker somewhere else and never have to go to _that_ base at all. But he couldn't bring himself to lie to Clint. Least of all to merely protect himself. And what if Strucker was there and he lied? Any blood would be on his hands then, and they were coated enough as it was.

"There's a base in Siberia," he said shortly. "I don't know if Strucker ever knew about it. But I know it has a large lab facility."

Clint frowned, studying his face a little too closely. Bucky, not meeting his eye, pushed away from the wall and turned away. "We won't be able to access it easily. You can only reach it by air."

"I might be able to arrange some transport," said Brock with a shrug. "I should be able to get a hold of a Quinjet for us. Just don't ask too many questions about where it comes from."

Clint only half acknowledged the comment, he was still watching Bucky.

"It's dusty in here. I'm heading outside," said Bucky shortly, "let me know when you're ready to head out." And he left the room.

* * *

"Bruce!"

"Hey Thor," said Bruce, punching the commands into the espresso maker and turning to greet him.

"I have been looking for you."

"Really? What's up?"

"I wish to ask you a favor."

Bruce eyed him. "Uh-huh?" Thor was looking suspiciously nervous.

"I-…would you mind...traveling to Asgard with me?"

Bruce blinked. "Seriously?"

"Indeed. I have given a great deal of thought to what you said. How loss can be used to lead us to an appreciation of those still in our lives. And I…I wish to visit my father. While we did not part on bad terms, there was still strain there. I would like to spend some time with him. And if I fail there, I will have faced the past. But I don't wish to go alone. I worry that my friends, my father, perhaps even his advisors, will all urge me to return to Asgard. That is out of the question. But having a friend at my side would…help, to have a close friend at my side. I would bring Jane, but she and I discussed it and I think given my last time on Asgard it might not be…the most diplomatic choice. Not for my first return. I hope one day I _can_ bring her there for a visit and she and my father could become better acquainted, but for now, I hoped you would be willing to come."

"To…Asgard?"

"Yes."

"Set foot on an alien planet?" Bruce's face broke into a grin. "Oh Tony is going to be _so_ jealous."

"Tony is going to be so jealous of what?"

Bruce and Thor both turned to see Tony coming down the staircase towards them.

"I've been invited to visit an alien planet," said Bruce grinning, completely unable to resist the temptation of bragging. "We're going to Asgard."

"Really? You invited Bruce and not me? I'm hurt," Tony deadpanned.

Thor laughed. "It is a sensitive, personal visit. I thought someone with tact would be a good idea."

"Ouch." Tony mockingly placed a hand to his heart. "You really know how to kick a man when he's down."

Thor turned to Bruce. "Thank you." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Will you be ready to leave tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? I-, eh." He shrugged. "I suppose. Tomorrow it is."

"Thank you."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second." Tony turned suddenly seriously. "Tomorrow? How long are you planning on being gone? Remember we have that gala in a week and if this is just an elaborate way of getting out of going-"

"No, no," assured Thor. "We will only be gone a few days at most. You have my word."

"I expect you at that party, eight o'clock sharp _and _in your tuxes."

"We'll be there," promised Bruce.

"You'd better. Or I'll stick Natasha on you both."

* * *

Clint hung up the phone and stepped out onto the porch, where Bucky was standing, propped up against one beam, apparently lost in thought.

"That was Brock. He's got the transport sorted. We can head out tomorrow."

Bucky nodded.

It was late. There was the chirping of night insects, mosquitoes buzzed around, and drifting over the wall came the sound of music from a nearby open air bar. Only one light shone on the porch, and it cast long shadows across the wood and Bucky's face. But even if Clint couldn't quite make out his expression he could see the tension in his shoulders and the way he stood, his arms crossed, his fingers digging into his arms.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes," said Bucky shortly.

Clint considered for a moment. "Are you sure? Because ever since we talked about Siberia you haven't seemed okay." Bucky let out a huff and turned away to lean against the porch railing. "Is there something special about the Siberia base that I don't know about?"

The silence that followed was so long that Clint didn't think Bucky was going to break it. But at last he did. "It's where they kept me. Between missions or when they wanted to work on 'improvements'…it's where I was first taken after I fell from the train. It's where Dr. Zola-….Let's just say I have a whole lot of really bad memories from that place."

"You don't have to go back there," said Clint. "We can check it out without you."

Bucky shook his head. "If I start letting the past scare me I'm never going to stop. And I said I'd help to find that scepter. I'm going to see it through. All the way."

"…Bucky, you don't owe anyone anything. You don't have to do this. I didn't push it last time, and I know why you said you didn't want to go find Steve. But…maybe you should rethink it. Despite the reasons you gave…Steve cares a great deal about you. And I know he must be looking for you."

"I'm sure he is. But he's not going to find what he's looking for." Bucky continued to stare out across the garden. "When I joined the war, I didn't do it rashly or in some idealistic patriotic furor that didn't count the cost. I knew that when I left home I might never make it back again. I knew I'd see things and do things I might never be able to get out of my head. I might be maimed, shot, or blown up. But there was so much death. Our country had been attacked, and Hitler was cutting swathes through Europe, taking lives brutally, senselessly...I counted the cost, and I thought there was no sacrifice I was not prepared to make if that was what was asked of me, in order to do my part to stop the war and stop anymore loss of innocent lives." He flexed his metal arm. "But I was wrong. If I had known...if I'd been told what sacrifices I _would _have to make, I never would have left Brooklyn...even if it met the difference between winning and losing the war. I'm no hero, Barton. The Bucky Barnes that Steve is searching for doesn't exist anymore. He died a slow and torturous death at the hands of Hydra. What I am now? Well it's a lot more than I was before you found me. And I owe you and Wanda a lot for that. But it's still not the Bucky that Steve knew."

"Maybe he doesn't care?"

"Maybe not. But maybe I do." He ran a hand through his hair. "I have to go with you to Siberia. As much as the idea makes my skin crawl. Everything that happened there...ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. So I'll face it. But I appreciate the offer to sit it out."

"You're probably right. But one day you're going to need to face Steve too."

Bucky gave a humorless chuckle, and then added after a pause. "You know you remind me a lot of him sometimes."

Clint blinked in surprise. "I don't have a whole lot in common with Captain America."

"Really? Because," he jerked his thumb back towards the house, "you've inspired two lost super powered twins and one very angry Hydra agent to chase around the world looking for a missing scepter for no other reason other than it's the right thing to do."

"Yeah, well…Steve never would have ended up a Hydra agent, barring a very healthy dose of brainwashing and memory wipes. Neither excuse I have."

"Maybe not. But he could be just as bloody stubborn as you." Bucky shot him a grin. "And he never stopped pushing himself to be better. Maybe he'd never have joined Hydra. But if he had, he'd be doing exactly what you are doing right now."

Lost for a response, the two men stood there, the night growing steadily darker, the music now joined by loud voices and laughter. At last Clint pushed off from the railing and turning, started heading back into the house.

As he opened the back door he was arrested by Bucky's voice, as the man said over his shoulder, still looking out over the garden, "You're right. I know. Some day, I need to talk to him. I need to face him just as much as I need to face Siberia. But…I want to know exactly who I'm facing him as. Because he deserves that much from me."

"There's one thing you are wrong about," said Clint. "You say you're not a hero anymore? What you've survived, yes, you are a hero. Because you're still fighting." And with that, he went inside and left Bucky alone to the night.


	29. Chapter 29: Siberia

The landed the jet a mile from the base. As they stepped out into the snow, they were hit by a bitterly cold gust of wind, and Bucky shivered, trying not to be reminded of cryo-chambers and the chill that lingered for hours after being pulled out of one.

Brock rubbed his hands together and breathed on them. "I'm regretting my suggestion we leave Africa," he muttered.

Clint chuckled. "You do have only yourself to blame. If you hadn't said anything, we'd be in Gabon by now, enjoying the rain forest."

"And not risking hypothermia. That will teach me to keep my mouth shut in the future."

"Oh, I don't think anything could ever do that." Clint grinned and Brock shot him a look.

"One of these days Barton…"

They started the hike through the snow with Bucky, familiar with the terrain, leading the way. As they neared the compound, Bucky raised a hand and they all stilled, crouching and crawling the last few yards to an embankment that looked out over the base site.

Brock pulled out a pair of binoculars and surveyed the large steal doors built into the snow and ice. He was unusually silent for a long time. "There's no one outside on patrol but…here, look for yourself." He handed the glasses to Clint, who in turn surveyed the entrance.

Clint frowned. "Are those footprints in the snow, near the entrance?"

Brock nodded. "That's what I thought too."

"The base is occupied?" Bucky tensed. Of all the bases, _this_ one couldn't have been deserted as well? He signed. "Okay, there's a vent system around back. There's a lock, but Wanda should be able to bust it."

"Without blocking the way in?"

"I've been practicing," said Wanda, her gaze flickering for only a moment in Bucky's direction. "I can do it."

Clint nodded. "All right. We'll cut around then. Once inside, everyone be on the alert. We don't know how many men could be inside. If it _is _Strucker, he had a sizeable number with him. Wanda and Pietro, you make one team. Bucky and I will make the other. Brock, you stick with the twins until you reach the server room."

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. I'll hack in and download any files they're storing."

"Right. If this is Strucker, we want to know any damage he may have already done, and anything he may have already set in motion, and who he's in contact with. Remember," he turned to the twins and Bucky. "Our priority is that scepter. Second, Strucker if we can grab him. We've got to stop him if it's possible. Keep your radios on at all times. Let's go."

Skirting around the base in a wide circle, they moved, slowly, keeping low. Bucky lead them to the vent entrance. It was covered in snow, but he could walk through this base blindfolded, so had no trouble locating it. He and Brock knelt and dug the snow off with their hands as Clint covered them.

"Here," Bucky stood up, "it's ready."

Wanda came up beside him, he gave a nod, and she raised her palm. A small, precise blast of red energy shot out from it, perfectly hitting the lock and knocking it off.

Clint nodded approval. "Good going."

Brock pulled the grate open, and one by one they slipped into the vent. It was a long, slopping tunnel, and slow going. The last ten feet was a straight drop down, that required bracing against either side of the pipe. But they reached the bottom, dropping down into a room somewhere in the bowels of the base. A large crowded room full of pipes, equipment and a huge heating system that rumbled ominously.

Clint drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and nodded to Bucky who, being familiar with the layout, took lead, his own weapon cocked and ready at his shoulder.

They reached the end of a hallway without encountering anyone. Clint nodded the others down another hall and he and Bucky turned, and took right. There were two different sets of rooms in the base that had been used for lab work, and Bucky hadn't been sure which of the two the scepter was more likely to be found in, if it was at the base, so Wanda and Pietro were taking those in the east wing, while Clint and he made their way towards the west.

The pair reached a staircase and slowly climbed up.

At the top, beyond a shut door, they heard their first sounds of movement and voices. Something was muttered in Russian, followed by laughter. The voices seemed to be coming on either side of the door. Bucky took one side, and Clint moved to the other. They exchanged one brief look, a short nod, and then Bucky grabbed the door and yanked it open.

Clint rushed, one fist colliding with the jaw of the right guard, while he landed a kick into the man on the left. Bucky grabbed one of the two men, wrapping his metal arm around his neck, before ramming his head against the wall.

Gunfire sounded from down the wall. Clint let lose an arrow, while another punch from Bucky incapacitated the second guard.

Stillness filled the room.

Together the two men moved on.

As they rounded another corner, an alarm suddenly started sounding throughout the building.

"What's happened?" demanded Clint, speaking into the radio.

There was a pause, then Pietro's voice: "Ran into a little trouble. We've got it taken care of. Moving on."

Bucky and Clint exchanged glances and then sped up. Up another staircase, round another hall, and suddenly gun fire rang out behind them. Bucky whirled, firing back. He ducked behind the corner, flatting against the wall.

"How many?" asked Clint.

"I counted five. I've got this."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. It's only five." He fired several times round the corner. "Go. If the scepter is here, we can't risk losing it."

Clint nodded, and as Bucky fired again, he moved on, rapidly running through the directions in his head. _One left, next right, one staircase…_

There was shouting on the other side of the door, running footsteps. He nocked one of the special arrows, took a breath, and then kicked the door down.

He let the arrow loose. There was an explosion, enough cover to allow him to roll in and to the side. He was barely on his feet again, before he let loose two more and then swung out, taking out a man with a solid punch.

It had once been a lab space. Crates and boxes were scattered around. Weapons strewn across them. There were a couple of metal tables and chairs scattered around, as if the room had been converted into some central common area. As Clint had entered, chairs had been knocked back, men leapt to their feet, reaching for weapons.

A bullet whizzed past and he ducked, throwing himself to the side, shooting another arrow. He ducked behind a pillar, using it as cover to take out two more men before rolling forward. He came up in a group of three, bringing his bow up sharp into the under jaw of one, kicking out at a second. The third man got a blow in, knocking Clint back, but he returned the punch with two of his own.

"Clint! Look out!"

He heard Bucky's shout form the doorway and reacted instinctually, throwing himself to the side. An explosion rocked the room, concrete flying through the air. There was gunfire, Bucky crossing the room, metal arm out. Clint had already risen to his feet and was engaging two more guards, but he heard the sound of metal hitting flesh and the crack of bones, and, as he laid his two out, stillness filled the room once more. He turned to Bucky.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

He nodded curtly.

There was a pair of large metal doors at the end of the room and the two approached them. Bucky slammed his fist down on the open button and they slid too.

The room beyond was lined with and equipment that Clint did not immediately recognize. Nor did he pay much head to it. His gaze was arrested immediately by the man in the center of the room, rummaging madly around on a worktable cluttered with papers and scrap metal.

_Strucker._

Strucker whirled at the sound of the doors sliding open, pulling out a handgun, but Clint was already across the room. He grabbed the man's wrist and twisted.

Strucker let out a yell and dropped the weapon, as Clint, reaching for the cuffs on the back of his own belt, restrained the man's wrists and then, turning him back round, shoved him to the ground.

"I bet you didn't expect to see me again," he said coolly.

"Clint?" Wanda's voice came on over the radio, elated and thrilled. "We have it. We've got the scepter!"

"Good work. We've got Strucker. Head to the meeting point." He turned back to Strucker. "It's over."

Strucker looked up at him, a smile playing on his lips. "Agent Barton. What a pleasant surprise. It seems you are quite persistent."

"You can say that. It's _over _Strucker. You. Hydra. It's all over. We've got the scepter. And the very pair you hoped to use for Hydra helped us do it. It's _over_."

"Clint." It came from Bucky, a sharp, urgent hiss.

Clint looked up. "What?"

"We have a problem." He was looking around the room. And for the first time Clint took it in more fully as well. There were five pods spaced through it, each connected to control systems. These seemed to be taking Bucky's attention. He'd moved over to one of the control panels and had started pressing buttons.

Moving away from Strucker, Clint came up beside him. "What are these things?" he asked, staring up at the pod in front of them.

"Cryo-chambers."

"Five of them?"

Bucky nodded curtly. "And they're empty."

"Shouldn't they be?"

"No," said Bucky grimly, "they really, really shouldn't be." He stared at the information displayed on the screen. "And they've been emptied recently." He turned sharply and crossing over to Strucker, punched him, hard, brutally across the jaw. "Where are they?" He followed this with a sharp kick in the side. "_Where are they?_"

"Bucky!" Clint moved forward, but Bucky had already grabbed Strucker, pulled him to his feet, and punched him again.

_"Where are they?"_

Clint froze. Strucker was laughing, even as blood dripped from a split lip. "You're too late," the man murmured. "You're much too late. Hydra _will_ rise again."

Behind Strucker's back, Clint noticed something glint in the man's palm. "What's that in his hand?" He demanded.

At once, Bucky reached round and wrenched the object out of his grasp. It was a small detonator. For only one split second Bucky and Clint's eyes met and then:

"Grab him!" ordered Clint, "Let's go."

Bucky hauled Strucker to his feet and propelled him towards the exit as Clint ordered over the radio: "Get out of the base! Now!"

"I've nearly got the files uploaded," Brock's voice replied.

"Leave it! Strucker just initiated a self destruct. Get out _now!_"

"I just need another minute."

"I don't know that we _have _another minute. Out Brock! Now! That's an order."

Clint gripping one hand tightly at Strucker's collar, pushing him before them, they made their way towards the main exit of the base. Two guards were posted there, but Bucky shot them both before either had even processed that anyone else was in the room.

And then they were out in the snow, running away from the base. Fifty feet away, now a hundred. Wanda and Pietro met them behind an embankment.

Wanda held the scepter.

Clint stumbled to a halt, panting, staring at the scepter in sheer relief and elation.

Strucker fell to his knees, panting himself. He stared up at the twins. "What a disappointment you both have been," he said, the sardonic note somewhat lost as he struggled to catch his own breath.

Both twins ignored him.

"Where's Brock?" asked Wanda, looking round.

Clint swore. "Brock?" he snapped over the radio.

"I've got it. The files are just downloaded. I'm on my way."

Clint glanced towards Strucker and saw the man chuckle. He swore again and looked desperately, back towards the base. "Come on…come on," he muttered under his breath, every nerve tense and straining and completely unable to do a thing to speed Brock along.

He didn't see Pietro and Wanda exchange a glance. He didn't see the unspoken question in Pietro's eyes or the responding flicker of fear and reluctance in Wanda's. He didn't see the slight shrug Pietro gave.

"Brock! _Where are you?_" he snapped.

There was crackle of gunfire over the radio. "A bit pinned down."

"Get out of there! I don't know how much more time-"

_"Trying!" _came back the sharp response.

Wanda reached out a hand, perhaps to try and stop Pietro, and he murmured something in Sokovian. Clint, not speaking the language, didn't register it, still tensely watching the exit. Bucky however looked up sharply, understanding the words.

"I have to," Pietro had said. "I'm sorry."

And suddenly there was a woosh. And at this Clint did look around, but Pietro had already gone.

* * *

He sped into the base. He strained his ears for the sound of gunfire to lead him. The alarm was still ringing through the building. Clint was yelling over the radio in his ear, but he yanked it out and tossed it aside. Down two stairs and a hallway. There. There was the sound he'd been listening for. Down another staircase and he found them. Four gunmen had Brock trapped in a doorway, firing, not moving forward or giving Brock an opening, pinning him down whenever he tried to duck out. Two bodies lay to the side, guards he'd already hit, but his progress out was much too slow.

Pietro zoomed up, knocking out the first, grabbing his weapon and shooting the other three. There was no time for anything else.

He threw the gun away, staring for a moment at the bodies. But there was no time for that either, or for the crashing realization that he'd never shot a man before.

Brock was running up to him, shoving a flash drive into his hand. "Take this," Brock ordered, "it's got all the files. I'm right behind you."

"No. I'm not leaving you."

"I said I'll be right behind you! You've got to get out of here and we don't have time to argue!"

"You're right. We don't." Throwing all his speed into it, Pietro punched him hard, sending him to the ground, out cold from the velocity of the impact. Pietro crouched, quickly pulling off some of the man's tactical gear to lighten the load and then, with more than one oath, pulled Brock up and over his shoulders. The man was muscled and strong and heavier than even Clint had been when Pietro had carried him from the Sokovia base. But urgency and adrenalin gave him extra strength.

Gritting his teeth against the strain in his muscles, he once against raced at a speed beyond comprehension back down the hall, and up the stairs, his thighs screaming in protest, his shoulders aching under the weight of Brock.

He could see the exit now, just a few more feet, and now they were out in the cold and the snow. At last the snow was too frozen to allow his feet to sink, but he stumbled on the terrain just the same. He just had to push that last stretch-

Pietro heard an earth shattering, booming crack behind him. He threw Brock down behind a snow embankment and cast his own body across him. He could feel the heat, something slashed across his back and he yet out a grunt of pain. There was another booming explosion, another flair of heat, much too close for comfort, and then it receded and there was only the crackle of flames and the occasional smash as portions of the base caved in on itself, his breath knocked out of him and his ears ringing.

Beneath him, Brock let out a groan and began to shift.

"Pietro! Pietro!"

He could hear Wanda screaming his name as she dashed across the snow. He pushed himself up and off Brock, winching in pain from his back.

"Pietro!"

"I'm okay!" he yelled, wavering his arm towards her, at least he thought he did, he found he was shaking and he couldn't quite command his own voice. "I'm okay…"

She reached him in another few seconds and threw herself down on her knees beside him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug, holding on for all that either of them was worth apart or together. But then, they'd always been worth so much more together. He wrapped his owns arms around her.

"I'm okay," he whispered into her ear. "I'm okay."

She buried her face in his neck and breathed deeply. He could feel her heart racing and her body still trembling from its panic. "I thought I'd lost you. I can't lose you. I can't."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

"You're bleeding." This was from Brock. He'd pushed himself up against the embankment and was massaging his jaw when he'd caught sight of Pietro's back.

Wanda at once pulled away. She glanced down and realized blood covered one palm. She looked up at Pietro, horrified, and then quickly moved round him.

The cut was long, some shrapnel having caught him as it flew past. Brock moved to kneel beside Wanda and examined the wound, Pietro letting out a hiss of pain as he touched it.

Clint had reached them by this point. "Is it bad?" he asked,

Brock shook his head. "It's not deep. We can patch it up at the jet. What on earth were you thinking? I told you to get out of there!" he snapped.

"If I had, you'd already be dead," said Pietro evenly.

Brock shrugged. Clint frowned, aware that he wouldn't be shocked if Brock had responded with something about that not being much of a loss. He snapped, "And I ordered you to leave a lot earlier."

"I would have been out in time if I hadn't been pinned down by the guards. And I got the files."

"It wasn't an acceptable risk."

Brock opened his mouth to argue but Wanda cut in. "Can we argue about this once we get Pietro to the jet?"

Clint sighed. "Of course. I'm sorry. Come on." He held out a hand to Brock who, after a second, took it reluctantly and Clint pulled him to his feet. Wanda stuck close to Pietro's side as he rose and they began to walk back towards where Bucky was waiting, guarding Strucker.

Brock massaged his jaw again. "You've got a mean left hook," he muttered. Pietro chuckled. "…Thank you."

"The Rogues do not leave anyone behind."

Brock stopped dead in his tracks and glowered. "And just as I was beginning to like you. We are _not_ The Rogues."

* * *

**AN: My weakest link is trying to write action sequences. I'm sorry this didn't turn out better. I tried.**


	30. Chapter 30: The Soldiers

The snow crunched under heel, as they crossed the stretch of ground between them and where Bucky was waiting with Strucker. Clint nodded towards Pietro, "We need to get him to the jet and some first aid on his back. He's got a good cut from some shrapnel."

Bucky nodded. "Here." He pulled Strucker up and pushed him towards Brock. "Take him, I need to cover something with Clint."

"Brock Rumlow?" Strucker stared at the man in actual surprise. "What a disappointment, you with these traitors. I thought better of you than that."

Brock rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well that's really going to keep me up at night. Now start moving."

"Clint," said Bucky, as they started the hike back to the quinjet. "We have a problem on our hands."

"Right." His memory of Bucky's reaction earlier in the base caught back up with him. It was hard though to get too concerned right now however. Everyone was alive and safe and they'd actually managed to retrieve the scepter. He was still enjoying the triumph of that, and his gaze flicked back to Wanda, who was carrying it. A brief, pleasant image of handing it over to Fury played through his head, and then he forced himself to turn his focus back on Barnes. "Those cryo-chambers. What was that about?"

"They should have had people in them. Winter Soldiers."

Clint blinked. "I thought you were the Winter Soldier."

"Hydra made more," he said grimly. "Took their most elite death squad, Josef Smirnov's team-"

"What?" Brock's head whipped round. "...Team Blackout?"

"You know 'em."

"_Heard_ of them. They had more kills than anyone in the history of Hydra. They were legends. I always wondered what happened to them. And they were Winter Soldiers all along? _That's_ how they did it?"

"No. They got those kills before being given the serum. Now imagine how dangerous they are with it. I'm a knock off. Dr. Zola did the best he could. Them, they got the real deal designed by none other than Howard Stark. What they can do working together, the skills they've got, what they're capable of-... Clint they should have been in those cryo-chambers and they weren't. The computers showed they've been out for about a month now, which means Strucker woke them up. If they'd still been at the base, we _would_ have encountered them. Which means we have a very live and very dangerous threat out there somewhere."

They had reached the quinjet by now. Brock pushed Strucker, none too gently, down into a chair and added restraints, then grabbed a first aid kit from a storage unit and started work on Pietro's back.

Carefully, almost as if she was afraid it might break, Wanda set the scepter down in one of the storage units and then went to stand beside her brother.

Clint rubbed his face, his elation from the near completed mission, decidedly dying. "Right, this is bad."

"Strucker likely knows where they are and what they're doing," said Bucky carefully.

Clint pulled Bucky away from the others, not however before Brock met his eyes over Pietro's head. Well he wasn't going to have to ask Brock where his vote landed, he thought grimly. He lowered his voice: "You want to interrogate him?"

A flash of anger crossed Bucky's face but he stamped it down. "I don't _want_ to, but..." he closed his eyes for a moment as if struggling with himself. "l really don't want to Clint, but I know what those soldiers are capable of. If this is what we have to do to stop them...Clint when I say, that them being out there is bad, I mean it. They are everything I was and worse, and they're not memory wiped, brained washed assets. They're volunteers who believe in _everything_ Hydra ever pitched."

There was a murmur of voices and Wanda's laughter rang out. Clint looked over.

"It all very well for you to laugh," Pietro was saying, "you're not the one he's stinging."

"Do you want this thing to get infected?" snapped Brock.

"I still say you're doing this to pay me back for the punch."

Clint turned back to Bucky. "Not here on the jet, not in front of those two. You, me, Brock, we've seen and done enough to stomach it, but them...I'm not going to do that to them."

Bucky glanced towards Wanda and his shoulders relaxed. "No. You're right. Not here."

"Once we take off, I'll contact Fury and set up a meeting point to hand over the scepter. I'll tell him about Strucker and the soldiers. He can start monitoring for any sign of them and also decide what he wants done with Strucker. If...he asks us to interrogate him, we do it once we land. And on the flight, we can go though the files Brock copied. Maybe that'll point us towards what Strucker and the soldiers have planned."

* * *

Tony entered the common room where Nat was reading. "Hey, where is everyone?"

She nodded towards the roof. Tony headed to the glass doors which slid open to him. "Hey Steve! Can you give me a minute?"

Sam and Steve, who'd been conferring over by the railing, crossed the roof and came inside.

Steve eyed Tony's tux and glanced at his watch. "Isn't it a bit early to already be dressed for the gala?"

"Have some meetings and won't be able to change later. Hey Sam. Didn't know you were in town."

"Yeah, here for the weekend."

"Want to come to a charity gala? I can have Jarvis order a tux?"

"Uh, so very much no thank you."

"Sure? Cause Thor and Bruce _still_ haven't shown up, even though they swore they'd be back by, so we've got extra tickets to spare."

"Thanks. But I can think of two, _maybe_ three things I'd like to do less than spend an evening at one of those things. And that list does not include having a fight with a Hydra agent while a flying platform crashing into the building. Which should give you an idea of how much I do not want to go. I'll hang out on Steve's floor and take advantage of your excellently stocked alcohol cabinet here."

"You will, will you?"

"Oh yeah."

"You know, Bruce and Thor still have time to make it back before the party," said Natasha.

"They had better. If they don't- well I haven't decided yet what I'll do, but it's going to hurt."

* * *

Clint set the autopilot on and then pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Director?"

"Agent Barton. I hope you have good news for me."

"I do." And Clint could not entirely keep the smile out of his voice. "I've got the scepter."

"Well done...I knew you wouldn't let me down. I'll text you the coordinates for a handover. It's a compound not far from New York."

"Right. I'm in a quinjet, so I should be able to reach you by tonight, your time. Currently flying over Russia."

"A quinjet? That was resourceful."

"Yeah, well, not my resourcefulness. A...friend procured it. Listen Fury, there's something else. There's a probable threat; the issue is we don't know exactly what the target is."

"We?"

"Yeah. We. I kind of...got a team to help me retrieve the scepter."

"I see."

"...Barnes wasn't the only Winter Soldier. Apparently there are five more. I never knew about it before today. Strucker, the man who had the scepter, woke them up out of cryo, but we don't know where he's sent them. We do _have_ Strucker in custody, and managed to copy the files from his base, so hopefully we can figure out what he was planning."

"Good job again. You can hand Strucker over along with the scepter. I'll also reach out to some contacts and see if I can't find any trace of these soldiers. It may be I'll need to call on your...team, again, if they're willing."

Fury hung up. Clint wondered if he'd be so keen on using them again, once he saw exactly who the team consisted of. In the meantime, he plugged the coordinates Fury sent over into the auto pilot and moved to the back of the jet where the others were.

"We're should land at the rendezvous point some time tonight...we've got a long flight so you might as well get some sleep if you can. I'll watch Strucker."

Pietro, who did look exhausted, followed the suggestion without complaint, leaning his side against a corner and soon dozing. Wanda sat near him, clearly still shaken from earlier. She watched him for a solid hour before finally drifting off herself.

Bucky however took a seat opposite Strucker, who had lapsed into a sullen silence, and spent most of the time watching him. His tension was palpable. Clearly the thought of the Soldiers out there somewhere had shaken him. Clint returned to the flight controls, and Brock plugged the flash drive into the ship onboard computer and started searching through the files.

It was a long and dull flight. Brock took a break from the files after a few of hours when Pietro woke up, to check his wound once more, and then went back to searching through them. Bucky didn't sleep either. Clint began to wonder how much those two typically slept on a normal day to begin with. It occurred to him that any time he woke up in the middle of the night at one of the safe houses, no matter the hour, Brock could almost invariably be found glass in one hand and book in the other, sitting at the kitchen table. While Bucky it seemed invariably went to bed last and woke up first.

He sighed, and ran a tired hand across his own face.

The scepter was retrieved, the mission done. But it occurred to him, he still had a very long way to go yet...

Once they were both awake, Wanda and Pietro talked together in low voices for a little and then lapsed back into silence. Once, Clint noticed Brock looking towards Pietro, an unreadable expression on his face.

They'd been flying back through the time zones, but night had chased them down at last now. Clint had only once suggested Brock take a break and get some sleep, but the man had just shook his head. Around sunset, Clint had seem him pull his painkillers out of his pocket and take one, with a determined set to his shoulders that made it clear any comment would not be welcomed. And so Clint hadn't said anything. But he did wonder how much his burns and scars must hurt for him to actually break down and take the pills with Clint sitting beside him.

Shifting in his chair and stretching, Clint checked the auto pilot and called out behind him. "Not long now. We should be there in about half an hour-"

Brock swore.

"What?"

But Brock was already on his feet and stalking towards Strucker. "Do you know what he's done? Do you know what he was _mad _enough to bloody go and do?"

He had the attention of everyone in the jet now. Strucker, still restrained in his chair, looked up at him, a self-satisfied smile playing across his lips.

"It wasn't enough to have five super soldiers. He went and used everything they'd learned from their first round of experiments with the scepter and applied it on the soldiers. We're not just talking about Winter Soldiers anymore. We're talking about Winter Soldiers with enhanced abilities."

Bucky jerked. "What?"

"It's all in the files," spat Brock. He glared down at Strucker. "What were you thinking? You really think you can control that?"

"Unlike _you_, those Soldiers are loyal to Hydra. They will complete the mission and they will be the frontline fighters in the war that _will _see Hydra not just restored but its vision fulfilled."

"Hydra is dead! Can't you see that?" Brock demanded.

"Hydra will never die."

"It already has! And nothing you can do is going to bring it back. It's a corpse. What you're doing isn't going to bring order anymore. It will only bring more chaos. Chaos with no end, the very thing Hydra was fighting against."

"You lose faith so easily? It's pathetic. Hydra will rise again. Hydra _always_ rises again. Stronger than before. We were believed dead before, and we rose stronger than ever, inside of Shield, taking out what was its greatest threat and feeding on its body. The Soldiers will take out its greatest threat now and Hydra will rise again. And you will experience all the pain Hydra can inflict. For the fate of traitors is excruciating and merciless."

"Well ain't that lovely," said Bucky coolly.

Clint froze. "What did he say?"

Brock rolled his eyes. "Oh now don't start him off again. You really want to hear the _entirety _of that crazy rant over?"

"No, no…he said 'the Soldiers will take out its greatest threat'. That's what he said, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Wanda had gotten to her feet and come over.

"Why?" asked Bucky.

But Clint wasn't listening. He was remembering. Remembering being back in that room in the Sokovia base. The chair in the back and Strucker standing before him…what had the man said?

_"What I want from you now, is much less about what you can do and much more about what is in your head. There are many things I'd like to know. Who sent you here for the scepter is one. But the most important information you can give is about Hydra's current, greatest threat: the Avengers."_

"The Avengers…he's sending the Soldiers after the Avengers." He turned, and reached the radio controls at a speed to rival Pietro's.


	31. Chapter 31: The Roof

Clint punched in the frequency the Avengers always used, followed by the privacy code and hoped to high heaven they hadn't changed the password after he left… if he could just get through to Jarvis…

But of course they had. You didn't leave the code unchanged when you could no longer trust everyone who knew it.

He pulled his cell phone out and dialed the number for the Avengers Tower switch board.

It rang for an interminable ten seconds, during which he had all the time to curse himself. He could have insisted on interrogating Strucker. He'd refused to cross that line for the sake of the twins, but if it was too late...if the Soldiers had already gotten to the Avengers…

Once again he felt himself torn into two, between two forces each demanding his loyalty.

The call connected. "Avengers Tower. How can I help you?"

He ignored the friendly voice. "Jarvis! I know you monitor these calls. This is Clint. I need to talk to you or Tony, or anyone there, _please_!"

"Sir I-" But the friendly voice was abruptly cut off. There was only a fraction of a moment of silence and then the familiar voice of Jarvis was saying in his ear:

"Good evening Agent Barton. It is good to hear from you again." And dang if he didn't sound completely sincere in that.

"Jarvis, where are the Avengers?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Listen, I know neither you nor they have any reason to trust me, but I have very creditable reason to believe they've been targeted for an assassination attempt. _Where are they?_"

"Mr. Odinson and Dr. Banner are currently on Asgard, the others are at a charity function. It is a very large affair, with a great many witnesses."

"I don't think secrecy is a factor, not after the files and Insight. And a party? They won't be armed, if the Soldiers are going after them it's the perfect opportunity. Jarvis you have to warm them." A perfect opportunity. If the Soldiers were everything Bucky said they were, they'd be waiting and watching, and they wouldn't let a chance like this slip past them.

"I have already attempted to do so as soon as you mentioned the threat. But I am unable to get through to Mr. Stark. He is not answering his phone."

"…Will you send me the address Jarvis? I'm just outside New York. I swear to you, you _can _trust me on this."

There wasn't even a fraction of a pause. "I know sir. I am already sending you the coordinates to your number…and I trust your judgment sir, should I send Mr. Stark's suit to him?"

"Yes. Jarvis. I think you should."

* * *

"This is a disaster," muttered Tony, surveying the large, and opulent lobby that had been decked out for the occasion of the gala. "Thor and Bruce still aren't back from Asgard even though they promised faithfully to be here on time. Now Natasha's been missing for twenty minutes."

An amused smile played across Pepper's lips as she glanced over at Tony. "I've never seen you this responsible at a party before."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Someone has to be because apparently the other Avengers aren't."

"I don't know. Steve's playing his part."

"Okay. Sure. He's good. But, that doesn't let the others off the hook."

"Tony, relax. This is not a disaster, Natasha will be back, she probably just needed a breather, and I'm sure Thor and Bruce have a good explanation for why they're not here. You can't shoulder the entire team."

"I'm not-"

"You _are_. And you know you can't control everything every single person on it does. All of you care about pulling the Avengers through this, or else they wouldn't have moved back into the tower. And _that_, the fact that you all care, is the real reason why you're going to be okay."

He finally pulled his gaze away from Steve and searching for Natasha, and turned his attention to Pepper. "Did anyone ever tell you, you are both smart and gorgeous?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice."

"Oh well of course I did. I am a genius. I notice these things. And _that_ is a very beautiful dress you're in tonight…it does, however, look familiar…that was my birthday present to you wasn't it a few years ago?"

"The one I picked out?"

"Hey, in my defense, once we started dating officially, I picked out your presents myself."

"Yes I know. It's why they're not nearly as tasteful anymore."

"Hey, I thought you liked that negligee."

Laughing, Pepper took him by the arm and pulled him towards the elevators. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"It's our turn to disappear for twenty minutes."

"Need I remind you that this very important charity gala was your idea and you gave me a very long talk on the importance of all Avengers being on their best behavior?"

"Yes," she said, leading him into one of the lifts ad hitting the button for the roof. "But I am always telling you to be on your best behavior. And you never listen to me. Don't start now." She kissed him, one hand curling into his hair while the other snaked around his neck.

In his pocket his cell phone buzzed insistently, but he ignored it.

"Why, Miss Potts," He said, "I do believe you are trying to be a bad influenced on me."

"I'm just worried that all this good behavior of the past few weeks is going to make you burst and do something truly horrific. Just doing my bit for the team."

He kissed her neck, and then moved back up to her lips. "Hmmm, I always said you were a team player. It's why I hired you. Your time on the college soccer team really stood out on your resume."

"Like you took the trouble to read my resume."

"Jarvis read it to me a couple years after I hired you. I was wondering why you were so good at your job. I do have it framed somewhere though." The next kiss was deeper, richer- the elevator slid to a halt and the doors opened. "Horrible timing," he muttered.

Laughing, Pepper took his hand and led him out onto the roof. The night was brisk and beautiful. The lights of the city spread out around them.

His phone buzzed again. He reached his hand into his pocket and automatically hit the cancel button. Whoever it was could wait. He'd made Pepper wait enough times in their lives.

The pair walked towards the edge, and she slipping her arm through his.

"It reminds me of when we got together," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I think we've always been together."

"Then it was completely inappropriate of you to keep giving me the job of throwing out your one night stands."

He chuckled "What was completely inappropriate was you taking so long to tell me we _were_ together. You know I've always counted on you to inform me of important details." He turned round to face her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "But I was big about it. Didn't fire you over the oversight. Simply issued a written reprimand." He started to lean in as she rolled her eyes, but suddenly her gaze flickered to something behind his shoulder, her smile froze, he saw her eyes go wide, and instinctively he knew, and he moved without hesitation as she pulled him to the ground and there was a hail of bullets.

Together, they rolled towards cover, ducking behind a low wall, bullets still raining down above then. He pulled out his phone and punched the speed dial for Jarvis.

Together, crouching and crawling back along the wall, fragments of concrete splintering around them, Tony yelled into his phone: "J! I need my suit! Now!"

"It is already on the way, sir. Three minutes."

Concrete an inch from his face shattered at the impact of a bullet, cutting his cheek, and Pepper pulled him down closer to the ground. "We may not have three minutes!"

They reached a generator shed and ducked behind it. The shooting abruptly stopped, but the sound of footsteps was heard, heavy, moving inevitably towards them. Peppers eyes meant his, she gave a flicker of a smile, that made him ache. She reached for the bottom skirt of her dress and with a rip, tore it, freeing up her movement, and turned. They each covered one corner, as ready as they could hope to be. Tony flicked his gaze down to his watch. They just needed to make it until the suit arrived…

The assassin came round Tony's side. He was a largely built man, dressed in black, his hair close cropped in a soldiers cut, his face surly and determined. Instantly he caught sight of Tony and raised his automatic, but Tony lashed out with a punch. A punch that barely seemed to faze the man, other than to respond with one of his own.

It was like being hit by a ton of bricks. The strength behind it was like nothing Tony had ever felt from one human being. It sent Tony staggering. And then he was being grabbed by the neck, lifted, then thrown back, skidding several feet across the roof. The assassin raised his gun, aiming for Tony-

Pepper slammed into the man with her full weight. He took one step back then, whirled and kicked out, catching her in the gut and sending her sprawling.

Several things happened at once. The attacker raised his gun, pointing at Pepper. Still feet away, still staggering back to his feet, Tony saw it and let out a yell of desperation, a yell he couldn't hear because something was flying overhead and suddenly someone was jumping down onto the roof, in front of the assassin. There was a flash of silver as a metal arm punched, sending the assassin back a step then the gun was wrenched from his hand and tossed to the side, just in time for the assassin to recover and throw himself at the newcomer. As the two locked together in a flurry of punches, Pepper scrambled back to Tony, still clutching her side and winching in pain.

Tony stared at the metal arm. _Barnes!? It can't be! How- _But he'd been staring at photos in the Hydra files of that arm for weeks now, trying to come to some kind of muddled peace with Steve's search and he'd know it anywhere.

Barnes was putting up a better fight than Pepper or Tony had, but both could see he was losing. The assassin was stronger, forcing the other man on the defensive almost immediately, but the speed at which the two exchanged blows made intervention impossible.

The assassin had managed to grab Barnes's right arm, and now twisted it back behind him, bringing him to his knees and eliciting a grunt of pain, before reigning blow after blow down on his face and neck. Barnes tried to elbow his attacker, fighting for leverage to free himself...

There was a blast of energy, knocking the assassin across the roof, smashing him through a glass skylight. Barnes turned. Iron Man stood several feet away, the suit still locking itself into place around Tony, both arms raised and weapons primed.

Barnes rose to his feet and ran to the shattered remains of the skylight. The assassin was, impossibly it seemed, already gone from the debris of glass on the floor below.

There was a light thud, as Tony landed the suit beside him. "Sergeant Barnes, right?"

"...Mr. Stark." He nodded a greeting.

"Mind telling me what that was?"

"...A Hydra super assassin...with possible super powers?"

"As one would expect. Really quite obvious. Should have guessed. Uh, I suppose he's probably still very much alive after that fall?" Tony leaned over the edge of the skylight, and looked down. "I don't see him down there."

"I'd say that's a safe bet." Bucky shrugged. "Also there are probably four more of them in the building."

"Ah, that explains all the screaming I hear. The food was bad but not _that_ bad."

"Seems like another safe bet."

"Well, I suppose we'd better go after him."

"After you."

Tony turned to look towards Pepper, to appreciate the fact that she was still very much standing there, still very much alive, to have some image to wipe out the one of the assassin with his gun turned towards her, and then, to cover the moment said lightly, "See you later, honey." Then he flew up and down through the shattered skylight, and with a running start, Bucky leapt through after him.


	32. Chapter 32: To Protect

As the quinjet had neared the museum where the gala was being held, Clint patched Jarvis through from his cell to the jet's coms to free both hands for the landing.

"Agent Barton, I am trying to get through to Captain Rogers, but you should be aware that Agent Romanoff is currently alone in the west wing. Mr. Stark and Miss. Potts are on the roof; also someone is approaching their location from the stairwell."

"Can you get me over the roof?" Bucky had come up alongside Clint. "I can jump."

_"You want to jump?"_ Clint demanded.

"I can make it. Just open the hatch and I'll get down there."

"...Mr. Stark has just requested his suit. I could hear gunshots in the background of the call," added Jarvis.

Clint gave a curt nod to Bucky. "Okay." The museum was in sight now. "Hold on!" he yelled back to the others, as Bucky moved towards the rear of the jet. He slammed on the hatch button and could hear the rush of wind as it opened. As he held the jet steady over the roof, he looked back, saw Bucky take a running leap and disappear. He didn't have time to hang around and see the outcome. He shut the hatch again and maneuvered the jet out away from the roof and then down.

It was a tricky landing: space in the road limited, cars still driving past. He had to keep the jet steady, giving the cars enough time to see the landing jet and break. He felt a thud as one wing scrapped against several parked cars and saw a truck swerve to avoid him. As the jet came to a rest, he turned to the others.

"We don't have a lot of time," he said quickly, "The Soldiers are here and going after the Avengers and I-, I owe them, I'm going in." He got up and grabbed his bow and quiver. "But this isn't what any of you signed up for and it's not your fight. If any of you want to sit this out you can take the jet and meet Fury with the scepter."

Wanda opened her mouth at once, he suspected her thoughts on Bucky, but then she shut it again and glanced towards Pietro. He flicked his gaze down to his hands, and in a tone more subdued that normal said, "We will help." He looked to Wanda and nodded. "We will."

Brock gave a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. "I'm hardly going to go off to meet Fury on my own, that would be even more suicide that this. But uh, what about him?" He nodded towards Strucker.

"He's not going anywhere. But just in case…" Clint grabbed the scepter and slotted it into his quiver.

"Agent Barton," came Jarvis's voice. "Mr. Stark's suit is nearly there. It is bringing Roger's shield. If it meets you at the door, can you deliver it to the Captain?"

"We're on it." And with that the group headed out onto the street.

There were already people running from the building, but they managed to push through. As they ran up the stone steps to the entrance, Clint heard a familiar sound overhead. The Ironman suit flew past above them and something round and red and silver fell from it. Brock, nearest, grabbed the falling shield. Clint grinned. "I guess that means you're on delivery duty." Brock looked less than pleased.

* * *

Pepper hadn't been wrong. Natasha had taken a breather. It was something she would never have explained to the others. Clint had understood, but the idea of trying to make Steve or Tony understand, she rejected out of hand.

She was trained to always assess, to always watch, to always be on the alert for potential threats. In every situation, her brain was looking for exits, for weapons, for openings. It had been drilled into her as a child, drilled in until it became second nature, a part of her brain she couldn't turn off. To be in a room filled with people, those threats, those weapons, those openings, were everywhere. It was exhausting.

Of course she could handle it. Of course if she had had to stay at the reception she could have done it and no one would have been one fraction the wiser of the strain. But there was a flicker of satisfaction in being free, in being able to take a little time to herself, to re-center her mind and relax.

It had been Clint who taught her to take advantage of that freedom, she reflected, as she grabbed a champagne glass off a passing waiter and ducked beneath a rope which blocked off the rest of the building. It had been Clint who showed her the freedom she had once she joined Shield, and Clint who'd given her that freedom in the first place.

She walked through several rooms, idly surveying the artwork. She would finish her glass and then return to the party. A smile twitched as she thought about what Tony would likely have to say about her disappearance. It was going to be fun. She'd make sure to find him when she went back.

Moving from pictures into an exhibit on Roman artifacts, she wandered down a hallway lined with busts and glass cases filled with ancient armor and weapons. She paused halfway, in front of one display, and surveyed the assortment of ancient arrowheads and shield fragments.

How far the world had come, and yet how much the same it still remained…

Vaguely it crossed her mind that she could hear sounds far off, from the direction of the reception, that hadn't been there a few minutes ago.

She took a sip, and with a frown, strained her ears to try to place it.

And then, while no observer would have seen her stiffen or give any indication, every sense went on the alert, for just faintly, in the reflection of the glass, she saw movement, two figures behind her. One of them seemed to raise an arm, and she threw herself into a roll just as the shots rang out, shattering the glass case she had been standing in front of only a fraction of a moment ago.

As she rolled, she grabbed the small gun strapped high up on her thigh (Tony was an idiot if he actually believed she'd go anywhere without a weapon), and ending her roll shot towards the man and woman standing at the end of the hall. They both ducked behind displays. The man pointed his gun round the corner and shot out a flurry of bullets. Natasha rolled again. As she moved, the pair took the opportunity to advance.

The woman raised a palm and a bolt of electricity caught Nat in her side. She spasmed, her brain torn between pushing through it and trying to figure out how the woman had done that. She crawled back, reaching for cover-

An arrow shot past, embedding itself in the ceiling above the advancing pair. Her two attackers looked up, saw blinking red, and threw themselves back, just as a booming explosion rang out and the ceiling came crashing down, concrete and shattered relics blocking the hallway and dust filling the air.

"Nat!" There were footsteps and suddenly she was staring up at Clint. "Are you hurt?"

_"Clint?"_ She struggled to take in the reality of him, right there in front of her after the months of denial, anger, and…well, where she was now. It was impossible to properly wrap her mind around. To see him standing over her, looking exactly as he had on so many missions.

He froze for a second as he saw her reaction and she saw a crashing wave of doubt and guilt cross his face and could practically see the moment he shoved them away, placing her above his own uncertainty. "Are you hurt?" he asked again.

"I'm fine. But I'm pretty sure you just took out a bust of Calligula and maybe one of Nero." She started to rise and he automatically held out a hand. She took it, he blinked in surprise, and then helped her to her feet. "Who were those two?"

"Hydra. Winter Soldiers."

"What?"

"Yeah. Apparently they made more. And now they've got powers."

"Powers? What kind of powers?"

"I don't know exactly. But I know there are five of them and they're after you all."

"All, who?"

"The Avengers."

She stared at him and for a moment their eyes locked together and it was like it had always been: perfect communication without another word needed and a shared determination. The others were back in lobby, they were in danger, and they _needed_ to be protected.

Natasha nodded and the two started down the hall and back to the lobby. Anything else could wait. They had to reach the others.

* * *

Steve was trying very hard. He knew this party was important, at least that it was important to Tony, and so he was trying. He felt uncomfortable and out of place but he was making an effort. The woman who'd waylaid him claiming to be a history buff ten minutes ago however, was not making it easy. She'd said she'd love to pick his brains, but had instead seemed mostly interested in lecturing him on the socio-political landscape of Germany leading up to the war.

It had taken a great deal of Steve's self-control to stay polite, and his politeness even caused him to ignore his cell phone the first time it buzzed in his pocket. He kept reminding himself that he was doing this for the team. He was at this party, to help the Avengers.

"So you see, if you consider the terms of peace laid on them after the first world war, it really just opened the way for the Nazi party-"

The phone rang again. "Er, I'm sorry," said Steve giving in to temptation and pulling the phone out, desperate for any excuse to cut the conversation short. "I've really got to take this. Hello?"

Jarvis's voice greeted him, sounding urgent and concerned. "Captain Rogers. I have received creditable information that you and the Avengers may be in danger."

"From what?" And as he spoke, he turned a little. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the flash steel. He twisted away just in time. The knife grazed his arm, but a more serious injury was just avoided.

Steve dropped the phone, grabbing for the wrist holding the weapon and twisted; a twist that would have forced a normal man to drop the knife, instead it was answered with a punch straight to the jaw which sent him back. He dodged another swipe from the knife, and a second. He barreled into the man, bringing him to the floor, raising a fist only to have his it grabbed and he was flung off.

The strength of the man alone staggered him. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt. The closest thing he could compare it too was facing down the Hulk. Not quite that overpowering, but close enough.

People were pulling back, emptying the floor around them. Then suddenly someone screamed. A bullet hit Steve's shoulder and he automatically went into a roll, as more bullets shot into the tiles, bringing up shards.

A second assassin had stepped forward, gun raised. Steve threw himself into a slide across the floor, coming up by this second man. He wrenched away the gun. Whatever strength this man had, and from a punch that caught Steve in the gut, it was considerable, but it was nothing like the other one.

Steve threw the gun away and raised an arm to block another punch, and to his shock his hand went right through the man's arm. There was a flicker and for only a split second, the flesh disappeared and Steve's hand slid through, and then the punch came, completely solid and whole. It was if that one section of arm had phased out of existence for just long enough to avoid Steve and then reformed once clear, to make contact and send him back several paces towards the stronger assassin, who kicked, catching Steve in the side.

People were running now, the floor clearing more and more.

But Steve, knocked back by the strength of the one man was caught again by the other. He tired to match the blows which his own but the strength of the one seemed little affected by the sharp elbow to the side of the jaw and when he tried to kick the second, the flesh simply phased away for a split second that allowed him to step back.

The strong man laughed, and another punch sent Steve to his knee. He could taste blood on his lip, he needed to get out, retreat enough to regroup, come up with a plan-

There was a woosh of speed, as something, or impossibly someone, knocked into the strong man, and he reeled back, more in surprise than anything else.

_"Cap!"_

Steve looked round and caught sight of a someone near the doors, a man he'd recognize anywhere, even through the scars and burns that now marred his face, and he was holding Steve's shield.

Brock Rumlow raised the shield. "This still isn't personal!" he snapped, and threw it to him. Steve jumped and caught it, and as his hand slid through the handle, twisted round and slammed it into second man, who didn't phase away this time but stumbled back, blood trickling from a split lip.

_Good. So you can take a hit. It's just got to be a surprise,_ thought Steve grimly, _which means it takes thought on your part. Which means you're stoppable._

Steve raced forward, hoping to catch him off guard again but he was ready for him this time and the edge of his shield was neatly avoided.

Another woosh, and what had hit the first man, slammed into the second, sending him sprawling to the ground. Steve stared at the young blonde man before him, who gave him a wink before with a another woosh, he went after the second assassin again.

Across the room, Brock started moving towards them, when a blast of electricity caught him in the side and he went flying across the room.

* * *

Up on the balcony that overlooked the lobby, there was the sound of blasts and gunshots coming from behind a set of doors. There was crash, Bucky suddenly came smashing through the doors and rammed into the railing. Coming through after him, he saw the soldier Oleg and gritting his teeth, pushed himself back up to his feet.

"Come on," he said in Russian, "do we really need to do this?"

Oleg grinned for one moment and suddenly stopped in his advance. A look of deep concentration came across his face, there was crack, and he was gone. Bucky barely had time to stare before he realized the crack hadn't been the sound of Oleg disappearing, but of him reappearing at his side. Oleg grabbed him by the throat. "Oh yes, I think," said Oleg, leaning closer, "that we do." And raising Bucky, he threw him over the edge of the balcony, just as Tony came soaring down the hall and towards him. Oleg turned and rolled as repulsor blasts buried themselves into the wood of the railing.

Bucky felt himself plummet to the floor below, gritted his teeth to take the blow and suddenly felt himself caught, red energy crackling around him, and he was being set down on the floor gently on his feet. He looked round and caught sight of Wanda, her hands held up in his direction. He flashed her broad grin, before turning to survey the room and access the situation.

The room was empty now except for the combatants. All of Josef's team was there. Two of them, Katya and Nikola, seemed to have only just come in through a side door. Steve and Pietro were fighting Ilya and Josef himself. Ilya seemed to be avoiding Steve's blows, but Bucky's eyes were either playing tricks on him as to how or he was missing something. Brock, was pushing himself to his feet, grimacing in pain, but also out his stun baton and glaring daggers towards Katya.

A crack and suddenly Oleg was on the floor by Steve. Bucky surged forward, catching the man by surprise with a punch from behind. Steve sent his shield in an arc that rammed into Ilya, and as it came round Bucky reached out and grabbed it from the air, bringing it down on Oleg's back before tossing it once more to Steve.

Steve froze. "Bucky?"

_Wham_. A right hook from Josef caught Steve on the side. Just as a repulsor blast hit inches away from Bucky, who jumped and swirled. Up above, Stark swore.

* * *

He hadn't been aiming for Barnes. A split second ago the woman had been standing right next to him, but the repulsor blast had gone right through her and then she'd vanished. How-

Suddenly the whole room was filling up with copies and duplicates of the assassins. He held in the air.

"Jarves are you seeing this?"

"I am sir. I am scanning for heat signatures now."

He heard a door open and footsteps. He turn round and saw running out onto the balcony: Natasha and just behind her…_Clint_.

"Is that…"

"Yes sir. Mr. Barton was the one who informed me of the threat against you."

_"Huh."_

Nat was taking the stairs down to the main floor, gun at the ready, while Clint moved to the staircase drawing his bow and nocking an arrow. Tony's HUD screen lit up, showing the floor below him and he forced his attention back to the battle.

Those down there were struggling. An attack kept coming into contact with the illusions around them which would fade away only to be replaced by another, giving the real attackers excellent openings.

"What have you got for me, J?"

The HUD screen filled in the view, showing the real bodies in red.

He flew towards Clint. "Barton! Twelve o'clock, over by the pillar, that's a real one."

Clint didn't even hesitate: an arrow flew straight and true, catching one of the men in the shoulder.

"Right below you! By the table!"

Again Clint seamlessly followed the order, leaning out over the railing, taking aim. With half the balcony blocking the man below him, he could only hit the arm but the arrow flew straight and true. As it dug into flesh, the illusions flickered and disappeared for a second, then sprung back.

"Wanda!" Tony looked over and saw Clint, speaking into a com's device. "Wanda, over to your three o'clock. He's the one making the illusions."

On the floor below, a red haired woman was suddenly running across the floor towards the illusionist. Red energy shot out from her at the same moment white energy shot out from the man and the two met in a crackle of power. The illusions melted away.

"Bucky, I need you to watch Wanda's back!" Clint ordered.

As Tony flew back into the fray, he saw Barnes cross the room.

Still on the balcony, there was suddenly a crack in the air, and Clint turned to be confronted by the first man he'd shot. Startled at the sudden appearance, he didn't react quite fast enough. A knife caught him in the side, then a punch hit him hard in the chest, sending him slamming back and over the railing, falling to the ground.

He was caught out of the air by Stark and set down on the floor. Clint nodded a thanks and would have, have moved on, but Stark noticed blood on his own gauntlet, and looked towards the knife wound. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine." He nocked an arrow and turned, firing and quickly reaching for another, not giving Tony time to respond. There was a beat, and then Tony flew back into the air once more.

* * *

Bucky ran towards where Wanda was locked with Nikola. Illusions swirled around her, but he was impressed at how, after the first couple caused her to lose ground, she was able to ignore them. This unfortunately left her open to attack from behind.

A bolt of electricity flew towards, just missing as Brock caught Katya unawares with a sharp jab with his stun baton, throwing off her aim. She whirled, electricity sizzling between her fingers, more intense than before. He dodged one attack and then another, giving Bucky time to reach the pair. As he hit out, she rolled, coming up on his side, grabbing for his metal arm. He felt the electricity rush through him, conducted smoothly by the metal, the sensation horribly reminiscent of the chair. His body jerked, and he scrambled to push her off but she held firm, kicking at Brock as he moved in to help.

Suddenly, through the open front doors, something, _someone_, came soaring. Sam Wilson flew downwards, feet first into Katya, knocking her to the floor, breaking her hold on Bucky. She raised a palm and Brock surged forward, once more with his baton. This time he held it longer. Bucky saw the electricity surge around her, building, building, she raised a hand to blast out, when suddenly it seemed the level of electricity surging through her tipped over into overload and her whole body began to shake with it, leaping wildly around and through her. Bucky grabbed Brock and pulled him back, as Wilson took back to the air. There was blast of energy, the air sizzling and crackling, and then Katya lay still and unconscious on the ground.

* * *

Clint felt the tingle of electricity in the air, but didn't turn round to check it. The Soldier who'd knocked him from the balcony was back at his side. He'd wrenched Clint's bow away and cracked it. With a growl of anger Clint had slammed him, taking him to the ground.

The two rolled, the Soldier coming up on top. Several punches rained down before Clint was able to gain enough purchase to block one punch and retaliate but then a blow struck him on his wounded side, and he gave a yell of pain, his vision tunneling. Suddenly the weight of the man was off him. He blinked through the pain and blackness, his vision coming back into focus. A hand was held out to him and he took it, pulling himself to his feet. Nat gave him one quick assessing look and then smiled. Together, the two turned back to the soldier.

Clint saw the man take on a look of deep concentration, and new instantly that if not stopped he was about to blink away once more. Nat seemed to know this too, for she didn't hesitate. She grabbed a fallen tray that littered the floor, and threw it right at the soldier's head. Spinning through the air, there was a nasty thunk as it caught the man on the temple, giving Clint time to charge forward and slam the Soldier back down to the ground.

* * *

Wanda felt the space around her thrumming with energy, hers and the soldier's. She couldn't push through to reach the man, but she wasn't losing any ground either. Pieces of floor shattered from impact, she heard screams around her, saw images flicker around her, grabbing her, reaching out, but she had quickly placed these as nothing more than illusions, attempting to distract her.

But how to make progress? If she focused any of her powers away from blocking the other man's, his would get through.

Suddenly, Bucky's words from their training came back, from after she'd flown. _"You'll learn. You'll master it. You'll control it."_

It was a risk...if she couldn't control it...but it was a risk she was going to take. She knew her weakness. The soldier was a better fighter than her. So she needed the element of surprise even if she did get through his powers. This was the only way.

She would only have a split second between dropping the energy from blocking to wrapping it around herself. But she didn't allow herself to hesitate. This was the fight. These were the risks they all took. And she wasn't going to do any less than the others. She moved, red energy lashing around, letting instinct control it.

She flew up into the air, allowed herself a flicker of elation and then flew forward, coming down directly at the soldier's side. She reached out, grabbed him on both sides of his head, allowing her power to reach out, overwhelming, sending waves of sleep through his mind.

He collapsed to the ground, and she stood over him, drained and tired. But the sounds of fighting pulled her back to the present and wearily, she turned and took in the rest of the room.

* * *

Steve has backed off the assassin who kept phasing in and out. He'd gotten a few punches in but it was hard. The blonde man who moved so absurdly fast however, was having better luck. He wasn't as strong, and the assassin had caught him a few good blows, but the speed of his punches seemed to get in under the assassin's own ability,

So Steve instead turned to the other assassin. Steve couldn't counter him with strength, but he was lighter and quicker, able to dodge more blows. The shield seemed his only effective weapon, the vibranium at least making itself felt when it landed a hit.

Repulsor blasts rained down, suddenly turning the man on the defensive, as Stark landed neatly behind. But even on the defensive he was powerful. Stark swore as a kick from the man managed to leave a dent in the suit.

_ "Move!"_

It was a clear, female voice that spoke. Steve turned, and saw a red haired girl across the room. She raised her palm and pointed it above them. He looked up and suddenly threw himself to the side. Red energy shot from her palm and rammed into the chandelier above, which came crashing down, taking the assassin with it, as Stark just barely managed to blast off and away.

* * *

The sound of shattering glass echoed throughout the lobby, fragments and shards skidding everywhere. Pietro had easily zoomed out of the ratio of the fall, but the soldier he'd been fighting was caught by surprise, several pieces of flying glass cutting his side and arm. Still off balance from this, he was unprepared when Pietro came zooming back and grabbed him, and throwing him skidding across the floor. Brock moved forward and caught him with his baton. When he pulled back, the man was old cold. As the soldier under the chandelier, bloodied and furious, attempted to struggle out, Steve rammed his shield down on the side of his head the man went limp. Across the room, Nat delivered one final blow to the last soldier standing.

And at last silence filled the room.

**AN: Wait...*why* did I plot this story so that it would require a relatively large fight scene with fourteen participants? I must not have been thinking straight. But now it's over and next chapter will be way more fun to write :-D**

**I'm also not 100% sure if giving the soldiers special powers outside of the serum was strictly necessary. I was worried about balance issues. Both Wanda and Pietro are pretty dang powerful. But it may have complicated things too much. **


	33. Chapter 33: What Did We Miss

The first person to break the silence was Brock. He crossed the room, glass crunching under heel as he moved round the fallen chandelier and towards the bar that had been set up near the back of the room. His movement seemed to break the spell that had held the room still for a solid minute. Tony's helmet slid back, while Sam made a landing and folded in his wings.

On the other side of the room, Bucky approached Wanda, who was leaning wearily against one of the pillars. "Are you okay?"

She nodded but looked away. "Just tired. That was...intense…and scary." She dropped her voice at the end, as if almost afraid of him actually hearing the confession.

"Hey." He smiled and reaching out a hand, tilted her chin up so that her eyes met his. "You did amazing." He leaned in and kissed her, the one hand gently sliding down to the base of her neck, the other hand reaching for hers, their fingers entwining, and he neither noticed nor cared which was his metal hand and which was his flesh.

Across the room, watching, both Tony's and Steve's brows lifted.

"I really wish she wouldn't do that in front of me," muttered Pietro, nearby.

"Hey," said Brock, unholy amusement written clear as day on his face. "Your sister's got a boyfriend. Get used to it."

Pietro scowled, but Clint, coming over to lean heavily against the bar, grinned. Brock had searched through the various bottles by now, and handed Clint a glass of brandy, before pouring one for himself.

Steve had dragged his gaze away from Bucky. As much as he wanted to rush over to him, now was clearly not the time to do so, not while he was kissing someone. So instead he turned his attention to Brock. "Rumlow."

Brock tipped his glass in Steve's direction. "Cap."

"What are you are doing here?" asked Sam, moving to stand beside Steve, and eyeing him suspiciously.

Clint shifted perceptively so that he was between Brock and the others, any glimmer of a smile gone, but his voice remaining easy and calm. "He's a friend. I asked him for help. He came."

"Don't hold it against him," said Brock. There was still the mocking note in his voice, but it sounded a little more forced than before.

"So, uh, I have a question," said Tony, raising a hand. "Actually strike that, I have _many questions._ Let's start with, when did we all enter the Twilight Zone? What just happened, why are their super powered super soldiers, why are they trying to kill us, where did you guys all come from, and," in a far more conversational tone to Clint, "hey Barton, how are you doing?"

Everything about Clint remained relaxed, except for the hand holding the glass. It tensed. "Good."

"You are not good, you're hurt," snapped Nat, coming over to him. "Sit down on that bar stool and let me look at it."

"I'm not hurt."

"Really?" Tony gestured to his side. "Because typically the blood is supposed to be on the inside."

"It's barely anything."

"I'll be the judge of that, someone get me a first aid kit."

"Nat-"

There was a woosh, and less than five seconds later another, as Pietro came back holding a kit. Nat blinked at him.

Tony did as well. "So, uh who's Speedy Gonzales here?"

Clint cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice sounded almost careful. "This is Pietro Maximoff. That's his sister Wanda over there." He nodded to where Wanda was standing with Bucky. The two were now talking together in low voices. But while he gestured towards her, his gaze hadn't left Pietro. Pietro meanwhile had turned to look straight at Tony, and while Tony couldn't for the life of him say what it was exactly, there was no doubt that there was something behind that look; it was hard and steady, and some sixth sense told him to wait it out. Whatever was going through this man's head, it was something to be given respect. Pietro's eyes suddenly flicked back to Clint, then once more to Tony and finally…as if it was an effort, he nodded and said, "Stark."

It wasn't the warmest greeting, but Tony couldn't shake the feeling that it had been a concession. And a big one. One that had cost.

Pietro turned and handed the first aid kit to Nat. She gave him a curious, accessing look, as if she too had caught that there was more to that moment than met the eye, but she took the kit and turned to Clint.

"I said _sit._"

"Nat."

"Are you going to sit or am I going to make you sit?"

He downed the brandy, and sat. "You know," he said, "Steve over there is bleeding too, you could go fuss over him."

"Steve's got enhanced healing. You don't. Stop complaining."

Over Bucky's shoulder, Wanda caught sight of what was happening. Her eyes opening wide, she hurried over, Bucky following close behind. "Clint, are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. Nat's just overreacting- ah!" He gave a hiss of pain as Nat applied disinfectant.

"I thought I was overreacting," she said, looking up at him with a smirk that was so distinctly Nat that it made his heart ache.

"Bucky."

Bucky looked round and met Steve's eyes. And suddenly his expression went soft. "…Hey Steve."

"I don't understand…" said Steve. "I've been looking all over for you. How are you suddenly here?"

"Seriously," said Tony, "the list of things I don't understand right now is a mile long, and there has still been zero explanation about what is going on here. Barnes, up on the roof, you said these guys were Hydra?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah. Winter Soldiers."

Sam frowned. "I thought _you_ were the Winter Soldier."

"They made more. Five more."

"Hydra managed to develop a reliable version of the serum?" asked Nat, surprised.

"No." Bucky went very still. "Howard Stark did."

"Oh. So...that's why they sent you after him," said Tony flatly. Bucky gave the impression of withdrawing into himself, compressing himself into as small a space as possible. Tony noticed the girl Wanda slip a hand through his arm.

"You know then." Bucky met Tony's gaze. "Then you also know there's nothing I can do or say to make up for what I've done. I _am _sorry, but there's no apology in the world I can make that would be enough."

Steve opened his mouth to cut in and then, with what was clearly an effort, shut it again.

The entire room seemed to still, as more than one person held their breath. Tony stared at Barnes with a stare that, had he but known it, was not too dissimilar from the stare Pietro had given him a few minutes ago.

In his mind's eye he saw the video again, the crashed car, Barnes walking round to the passenger side and reaching in for his mother. And then the image was shoved away forcibly by a newer, fresher image. One of Pepper, yards away from him, a gun pointed at her, and the horrifying, desperate realization that he was about to lose her, that he couldn't get to her in time, when out of nowhere it had been Barnes who'd literally dropped from the sky and saved her.

"I know what they did to you," said Tony evenly. "And up there on the roof…you saved Pepper. That's something I can't ever repay. So you know, I'm sketchy on the math, but maybe that cancels out apologies that can't be made? I'm at least willing to find out."

Steve let out an audible sigh and shot Tony a grateful look. Nat, who'd turned back to her work, stepped back. "There. That's should hold you for now."

"Thank you," said Clint. He stood up, and suddenly wondered where on earth they were going to go from here. Get to Fury, deliver the scepter…would Nat be willing to have a moment alone with him? There were things he wanted to say, things he _needed _to say…

"I hate to break up all these lovely reunions," said Brock, pouring himself a second glass. "It's better than watching a soap. But it does just occur to me, you might want to do something with these soldiers before they all wake back up again. Unless you're dying for a round two."

"Right." Tony surveyed them. "We could take them back to the tower. There's a Hulk proof room even they shouldn't be able to break their way out of, until Fury can come pick them up and take them somewhere. I-"

There was the sound of footsteps over by the entrance and everyone turned.

Thor and Bruce, both dressed in their tuxedoes, had just entered the building and had stopped in shock, mouths gaping, taking in the fallen Soldiers strewn around the room, the debris of the fight, the shattered chandelier, Tony in his suit, Sam in his wings, Steve in his torn and bloodstained tux, his shield still gripped in his hand…

Bruce was the first to pull himself together. "What kind of party _was _this?"

Tony crossed his arms and said accusatorily: "You two are late."

"Yeah well, things got complicated on Asgard. Turns out Loki was alive and impersonating Odin. So we had to stop him, come back to Earth to find where he'd stashed the real Odin, and did you guys know we have Earth wizard now? Then we had to head _back_ up to Asgard, there was a big family reunion with way more tears all around than you would expect, run by the top graduate of the Jane Foster dealing with crap emotional school. Loki had to go back in a cell for now, Odin had to go into Odin Sleep to recuperate, Thor had to name a regent, it was a whole thing. Frankly I'm impressed we made it to the party at all. Though what you all have done to this party is a whole other question."

"Clint Barton!" Thor boomed out suddenly, causing Bruce to jump. He crossed the room in a few quick strides. Clint just barely had time to tense, before Thor was throwing his arms around him and pulling him into a massive bearlike hug. "It is good to see you my friend."

Bruce stared. "Okay, seriously, what _did_ we miss?"


	34. Chapter 34: Home

"We've all missed something," said Tony drily. "and as much as I want to know what it is, I think the more pressing matter is getting these knocked out super assassins to the Tower and locked up in the Hulk room. Though it's going to be a pain and a half to do so."

Clint, disentangling himself from Thor's hug, spoke up. "Actually, we have a quinjet parked outside."

Tony chuckled. "Course you do. Next you're going to pull out a tray of chocolate chip cookies that you baked on the way over."

Steve started dragging the one man out from the chandelier. "We should get moving. The longer we wait, the more we risk one or more waking back up." Everyone else moved to help, with the exception of Brock who merely watched from the bar.

"Comfortable?" asked Bucky, raising an eyebrow. Brock tilted his glass to him.

"Fairly."

As they stepped out of the museum, there were already a few reporters down the block, though the area directly in front of the building and around the jet had been blocked off by police. Inside the jet, Strucker still remained, restrained to the chair. His eyes opened wide as he saw the unconscious Soldiers and he spat something in Russian, that made Natasha raise a brow.

Steve turned to Clint. "Who's this?"

"He's the one who sent the Soldiers."

Thor, Tony and Sam all flew to the Tower, since the jet was already fairly full with everyone else. It was a silent but short flight. As Clint set the jet down on the Tower's landing pad, and stared through the cockpit's window at the building in front of him, his stomach gave a lurch, and he struggled to push the memory of his last time here, out of his head.

He undid Strucker's restraints and pulled him to his feet, while several of the others grabbed the unconscious Soldiers.

As they crossed the roof towards the glass doors, Bucky hung back.

"Hey Steve, could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course Buck, anything." Steve handed the Soldier he'd been carrying over to Thor. As the others headed inside, he walked to Bucky, who'd moved over towards the edge, and was staring out across the New York skyline.

"It's crazy," said Bucky after a minute, nodding towards the view. "It sure doesn't look like our city anymore does it?"

"No." Steve turned away from the city suddenly, to study Bucky. "So you remember what it used to look like, then?"

"Yeah. I remember. I remember everything. The good…and the bad." He suddenly let out a snort that sounded so exactly like the old Bucky, a Bucky Steve hadn't seen in decades, that it felt surreal. "The bad includes that 'prank' you pulled me into playing on the Pollack brothers in fourth grade."

"It was the only way. We had to do something to stop them bullying the little kids."

"We were little kids ourselves. And all I remember is having to explain to my mother how I'd gotten a black eye. Of course I didn't tell her the truth."

"Course not. But I did."

"Yeah, and suddenly she wasn't mad anymore."

"I knew she'd never be mad at you for doing the right thing. After all, you got your heart from her."

For a moment Bucky dwelt on the image of his mother. It hurt, but there was something beautiful and good there that also eased the pain a little. Bucky turned to Steve. "I need to apologize to you."

"_What?_ Bucky you have nothing to apologize to me _for_."

"Yeah I do. I know you've been looking for me. And I had my reasons for running. But at the end of the day…I owed you better. I promised you till the end of the line. And that line ended up being a lot longer and a lot more crooked than either of us ever imagined. But that doesn't justify me breaking that promise. And I know if our roles were reversed…I'd have gone through hell and high water to try and find you. And been hurt when I couldn't. Or desperate with worry. I know when I heard the Soldiers were after you, I was terrified we wouldn't be able to reach you in time."

"…so why did you do it? Why did you hide from me?"

Bucky shrugged. "I told myself it was because Hydra was still in my head. Before Wanda got it out, everything they put in there was still very much _there_. I could have been turned into the Winter Soldier again. Used against you. I told myself staying away was protecting you. Then after that, I told myself I was protecting you from having to choose between me and Stark. And finally I told myself I just wasn't ready. That I needed time…but the truth, Steve, is that I was just ashamed."

"Buck…you have _nothing_ to be ashamed of. What was done to you, what they made you do, you had no choice."

"I was still the one who did it though. And sometimes…sometimes remembering who I used to be before all that, who in some ways I still am, makes the bad parts worse to remember. I thought being around you would make it that much worse."

"…Bucky…"

"I was wrong."

Bucky held out a hand. Steve took it without a moment's of hesitation, and Bucky pulled him into a hug.

* * *

Thor, Tony, Sam, and Clint, deposited the Soldiers and Strucker in the Hulk room. As Clint pushed Strucker inside the man whirled around, angry and livid. "You _think_ Hydra stops here?" he snapped, "You think you've _won_?"

Clint shrugged. "I think this is the first of many cells you're going to spend the rest of your life in. So, I'm at least winning more than you are right now." And with that he stepped out and slammed the lock button as the doors shut.

The lift ride back up to the common room was silent. Clint focusing on the floor numbers rising, trying not to be aware of the three other men, trying not to think about the last time he'd ridden in this elevator. But when the doors slid open and he stepped out, he couldn't help it. He couldn't keep back the memory of that day, months ago, stepping out and surveying the Avengers, knowing that they now knew the truth, knowing that the jagged, twisted world he'd built had shattered around him, shards drawing blood.

It was the sound of Bucky and Steve coming in from the roof that pulled him back to the present. _Right._ He had responsibilities. He had to navigate this coming interview and then get his team out of this and to safety before they could rest. And they all needed to rest. He himself was bone tired.

Brock had made his way over to the bar already and had poured himself another drink. He couldn't hide the exhaustion as he leaned his elbows on the marble surface and stared down into his glass. Wanda had perched on the arm of a chair that Pietro had sunk into. Those two had at least gotten some sleep on the jet flight over, but it had been their first real fight, and the strain was evident on both their faces.

Natasha was just getting off the phone. "Fury's already on his way," she said, turning to Clint. "He said he'd pick up the Soldiers. He also said you had something for him?"

"Yeah." Reaching back into his quiver, he pulled out Loki's scepter and set it down on the coffee table.

There was a surprised silence around the room.

"Okay," said Tony, firmly. He'd stepped out of his armor, and now stripped off his crumpled tuxedo jacket and tossed it aside. "I'm done waiting. Story time now Barton. What the hell has been going on? What are you doing with that thing? What are you doing here? What are those guys doing trying to kill us for? Just…what everything?"

Clint chuckled a little dryly. He didn't want to sit. He didn't belong here anymore. And sitting seemed like it would be taking some kind of liberty. But exhaustion had him by the throat so, he propped himself against an end table. "Fury asked me to retrieve the scepter a few months back."

"That's the mission he gave you?" asked Natasha.

"He told you?" Clint was surprised. Fury hadn't mentioned that.

"Only recently."

"Wait, wait, wait. Clint's working for Fury again, and you knew, and you didn't say anything?" Tony stared at her.

She shrugged. "You didn't ask."

Tony rolled his eyes, and turned back to Clint. "Why would Fury approach you with this? Last time I saw him with you, he seemed more ready to shoot you than ask a favor."

Clint stared at the tip of his boot. "He decided to give me another chance."

"Why?" asked Steve, the tone more curious than accusatory.

Clint shrugged. But there was a snort from the bar and everyone looked over at Brock. "Couldn't have had anything to do with you running around wiping out all those Hydra agents, could it?" Clint shot him a look that said all too clearly _shut up_, but Brock merely grinned back.

"How did Fury lose the scepter in the first place?" asked Bruce. "Didn't we give it to Shield?"

Steve nodded to Brock. "We gave it to him."

Brock raised the glass of Tony's very expensive whiskey. "Hail Hydra."

A flash of memory hit Clint. Standing in this room, and saying those exact same words, glass in hand, as the others had demanded to know the truth. He frowned, and thought he detected just as much bitterness in Brock that had been in himself; different bitterness, but just as difficult to carry.

"Ah," said Bruce. "I see."

"So Fury asked you to get the scepter back from Hydra?" Sam prompted.

Clint nodded. "I thought Brock would know where it ended up after it left New York, so I went and asked him. He directed me to Strucker and a base in Sokovia. He was running experiments with the scepter, using its power somehow to give or unlock abilities in people. He ran those experiments on humans. All of them died. Except for Wanda and Pietro here. They're _not_ Hydra," he said firmly, drawing lines early. "They from Sokovia. Hydra took advantage of them. Anyways, I infiltrated the base and nearly got the scepter. But I messed up. I got captured. Wanda and Pietro here got me out. Unfortunately by the time I'd recovered-"

"Recovered?" Nat cut in.

"There were…complications. It's not relevant."

"He was tortured," said Wanda firmly.

"We don't need to go into all the details. It's not important."

Nat raised an eyebrow but he refused acknowledge it, pushing on with the story. "Once I got back to the base, Strucker was already gone, along with the scepter. The twins agreed to help me track it down again, but we didn't really know where Strucker could have taken it. The Sokovia base was off-books. It seemed reasonable that he'd have gone to another, similarly hidden base, but finding it wasn't going to be easy. I went back to Brock, and he suggested the one person who'd know the most bases: Bucky."

"Ah," cut in Brock. "By suggested, I think you mean called it an absolutely insane idea and suicidal to go ask him?"

"Hey, you agreed to help me find him."

"Well no one ever accused me of being sane."

"Wait," Sam cut in, "you just went and found Barnes? _How?_ I mean Steve and I have been spending _months_ on it. We have contacts all over the world helping us: military, government, business. And you just…found him? Just like that?"

Again, Clint studied the tip of his boot. "We were Hydra. He had Hydra training. We knew how he'd hide. We knew where he'd be likely to go. Plus…Brock had worked with him several times."

"Interesting definition of 'worked with'," said Steve, for the first time since the conversation started allowing a flicker of heat into his voice.

"You're right," said Clint, meeting his gaze levelly. "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant…we were able to find Bucky a little easier than you because we had some experience with how he was likely to be thinking. That's all. And we did find him. Wanda here has some fairly remarkable abilities. She was able to get into Bucky's head and pull out the last of the Hydra programming as well as helping to heal some of the damage to his memories. After that he agreed to help us find the scepter."

Tony moved to the bar. "Hey, would you mind pouring _me _some of my own whiskey? If you're not too busy drinking it all yourself, that is."

"I suppose there's enough in the bottle for two," said Brock dryly, and reached for a second glass.

"What happened then?" asked Thor. He actually looked excited, as if the whole thing was a jolly good story.

"We searched a bunch of bases. All of them abandoned. Got lucky this morning. Found Strucker at a base in Siberia. We managed to retrieve the scepter, download files off the server, and capture Strucker. The base was where the Winter Soldiers were kept in cryo. Bucky noticed the other Soldiers weren't there _and_ that they'd recently been woken up. We didn't know where they were though until we'd nearly reached New York. We had a rendezvous point with Fury, to hand everything over to him. But Brock found evidence in the files that Strucker had used the scepter on the Soldiers. And then Strucker let slip something about sending the Soldiers after Hydra's greatest threat. That's what he'd called the Avengers in Sokovia. I realized he must have sent the Soldiers after all of you."

Natasha had been watching him intently this entire time, never taking her eyes off his face. Now she cut in. "That's why you were tortured, wasn't it? For information on us."

_"I didn't give it to him,"_ he said firmly. "I swear to you Nat on-…on everything that's important to me." They both knew what he meant: on Laura, on Cooper, on Lila. An oath they both knew he'd never betray, even with everything else that he had betrayed.

"I believe you."

He stared at her, and suddenly she smiled at him. And something inside, something that had been broken from the moment he received that first message from her, letting him know about the Shield files leaking, seemed suddenly to be fitting itself back together. There were still cracks…but the pieces were no longer cutting and jagged, slicing into him each time they were touched.

"As soon as I realized the danger," he said, "I contacted Jarvis. He told me where you all were. I realized it was the perfect location for an attempt against you. I didn't think the Soldiers would pass it up. So we came." He shrugged. "And that's everything."

Tony snorted and turned to Bruce. "And to think, you made me all worried about Clint, out there on his own. Instead, while we were all moping around the tower, he was just putting together a whole new team. That's the last time I listen to you."

Clint frowned. "Worried?"

"I just…was concerned about you," said Bruce. "I'm glad you had people watching your back."

"…I saw what you all told the press," said Clint, carefully. "The story you gave out…thank you."

"It was Tony's idea," said Steve. There was a beat. "And it was a good one."

"It was much, _much_ more than I ever deserved."

Thor reached out and clasped his shoulder. "We all of us make mistakes. When there is a relationship worth preserving, you must learn to accept those mistakes and build from them."

"Yeah, while you were gone, Jane taught Thor to be sensitive. Other highlights: Steve is dating Peggy Carter's niece."

Bucky blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Oh yeah. It's _weird_." Tony actually grinned at Bucky.

"Sharon is much more than just Peggy's niece," cut in Steve. "You know what? We're not talking about this right now."

"I was just giving Clint the recap of what _we've _been up to, while he was off putting together Team Ex-Hydra."

"We're actually called The Rogues," said Wanda brightly.

Clint cut in firmly with: "We are _not_."

She turned her most innocent gaze on him. "You were the one who said to _always_ call us that when Brock was around."

"You've been _encouraging_ this?" snapped Brock. "How would you like a bullet through the brain?"

"I don't know?" said Clint idly, "how'd you like an arrow in the eye?"

Brock opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it again as the elevator doors opened and Fury entered the room. He looked around. His gaze took in Bucky, took in Rumlow, took in the twins, took in the Avengers very much alive and unhurt, and finally, landed on the scepter on the table. He nodded to Clint. "Well done, Agent Barton. A job very well done."

* * *

Clint was by the elevator, talking in a low voice to Fury, giving him a brief report. Brock, the twins, Bucky, all sensing that they'd be leaving soon, had started gathering together, ready to head out once Clint was done.

Thor was the one who gathered the Avengers together, along with Sam. "We must speak," he said.

"I think I know what you're going to say," said Tony.

"What?" Bruce looked between them.

"I do not want Clint to leave," said Thor flatly. "Both his actions tonight, and the story he has told, surely has proven that whatever mistakes he has made in the past, he does regret them. He is _one of us_."

Sam raised his arms. "This is between you all, not me."

Tony shrugged. "Call me crazy, but I'm with Thor…I never thought I'd want to see Clint again. I twisted his lies up in my head with other betrayals. But…things aren't easy. They're not black and white. I had to accept that with Barnes. I can accept that with Clint. Look, tonight, when I saw him at the party…it just felt right, to be fighting alongside him again. I didn't even have a second thought. When those illusions filled the room, he was the first one I thought to go to. And when I saw him knocked off the balcony, I flew in to catch him because he was my _teammate_ and I wasn't going to let him fall. And I reckon that was the same reason we put out that story to the press: _we weren't going to let him fall_."

"Tony's right," said Bruce. "Whether Clint is here with us or out there, I think we all know he's always going to be one of us. And we can't just cut him out…even though I think we all gave it a good try these past months."

"Nat?" Steve turned to her.

"He let us down. But we don't have to return the favor," she said simply.

"There's just one thing," said Tony. "I've got a feeling; Clint's now a package deal." He looked over at the small group by the windows. "I mean, Sonic the Hedgehog and Red over there pack some seriously cool powers that I got to say, I'd love to see integrated into the team. Plus, Cap, we both saw the way Barnes was looking at her, and the kiss. I think it's fair to say he's not about to go anywhere without her. You want Barnes back, you've got to take her, and with her, her brother. That leaves Scarface over there. You've got more of history with him than I have. Can you work with him?"

Steve blinked. "Rumlow? That man would have killed me, Nat, and Sam, if he could have."

"Yes, I know. So I get if you can't make that work. Maybe we can get the others without him. But maybe we can't. So I'm asking: can you work with him?"

"I…" Steve sighed. "Can you really work with Bucky?"

Tony considered the question. "Yeah. For Clint. For you. For the team. I can make it work. And maybe one day I can make it work for his sake too. Who knows? Crazier things have happened."

Steve looked over at Rumlow again. "One chance," he said firmly, "I'll give him once chance if it means getting Bucky and Clint back."

"And if he betrays us again," said Nat confidently, "we'll be ready."

There was the sound of footsteps, and Clint approached them. "Hey," he said, "Fury's just left. We'll be heading out now, but I just…I wanted to say one thing to you all." He was tense but determined. "What you did for me, with the press, I can't ever repay. Nor can I ever tell you how truly sorry I am. I let you down. I wish, I will always wish, for the rest of my life, that I had done the right thing. That you hadn't learned the truth from those files but because I'd come to you with it. I made plenty of mistakes in my life. I did things for Hydra that will always haunt me. But letting you all down…it's one of the biggest regrets I have. But working with you, living with you, fighting with you, was also one of the best things that ever happened to me. And I will always be there if you ever need anything."

"Actually," said Tony brightly. "We were just having a team meeting. We were wondering if you'd like to come back."

There was a stunned silence. "Excuse me?" asked Clint. "What did you say?"

"Well truthfully we've been a bit of a mess since you've been gone and Bruce is getting tired of having to shoulder all the heart to heart emotional talks, and-"

"What Tony is trying to say," cut in Steve, "is we miss you and we want you back."

"…after everything I did?"

Thor cleared his throat, and with intense concentration intoned: "_'Love is not love which alters it when alteration finds'_."

They all stared at him.

"_Who_ taught Thor, Shakespeare? Confess!" demanded Tony.

"Uh, think that was me," said Brue.

"I love it. He's a natural." Tony turned back to Clint. "What Thor said, only most of us are too insecure for that. We did vote and it was unanimous."

Clint smiled, and all the tension seemed to leak out of his body. He closed his eyes for a long a moment and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, they weren't exactly wet, but they looked pretty damn near to becoming it. "Thank you. I-…just…thank you." There was the sound of laughter behind him and he glanced over to see Pietro chuckling over something Wanda had just said. From the look on Brock's face, they were probably teasing him again. He turned back to the Avengers. "I mean it. _Thank you_. I can't tell you how much I've missed you all and how much this means to me. But I've got people to look after. I let down one team. I can't and I won't let down another. They _need_ me. I just…hope you understand."

"Actually it's what we figured," said Tony, "which is why we're extending the invitation to them too. I've been converting some warehouses into a new compound for the Avengers. I thought it might be a good idea to have a base that's not in the heart of a city. It's still under construction but there'll be plenty of room there for everyone when it's done."

Again Clint looked stunned. "You can't be serious."

"We are," said Steve.

"I-" Clint glanced at Tony. "Bucky?"

He nodded.

_"Brock?"_

It was Steve's turn to nod.

"I…" Clint stared at them all, speechless. "…thank you. I-…I'll talk to them. I don't know- but thank you."

* * *

Ten minutes later, once he'd managed to martial his thoughts, Clint approached the group by the doors.

"We ready to head out?" asked Bucky. "I'd like to say goodbye to Steve before we leave."

"Actually there's something I need to talk to you guys about first." Clint crossed his arms and studied them each, trying to assess their reactions as he told them. "They've invited us to stay…join the Avengers."

Bucky looked skeptical. "They're actually all on board with that?"

"Yes. Look, this isn't something that has to happen. We can just leave. That's perfectly fine all around. But the offer is on the table."

Wanda looked torn, glancing between Bucky and Pietro, obviously convinced the two would have opposite inclinations.

Clint added, looking between the twins, "I wouldn't ask either of you to work with Tony if you can't. And I'd understand if you can't."

Pietro met his sister's gaze. "I…don't…I don't want to kill him anymore," he said, almost apologetically. His tone more appropriate for admitting he _wanted _to kill him, than that he didn't."Back in Serbia…to rescue Brock, I shot men. I don't think I liked it very much. And," he looked at Clint now, "if I don't want to kill him, I suppose for you, I can work with him."

Wanda sighed in relief and nodded. "I think I'd like to be an Avenger…well a Rogue Avenger at any rate," she added a little mischievously. She looked round for Brock but he wasn't there. He was out on the roof, heading towards the jet.

Clint swore and ran after him, leaving the others behind. A light rain had started to come down, and a breeze caught his words and carried them as he called out: "Brock, wait!"

Brock did wait, and turn, but his expression was forbidding. "Go back inside Clint."

"Brock, it was a discussion, that's it."

"A discussion with a very clear decision. It's a natural fit all around. Barnes isn't going to pass up a chance to team up with Rogers again, and the Avengers will be good for the twins. It'll be a home for them. Stability they sorely need. End of story."

"Right. It will be good for them. But if you don't want to join, _we_ don't have to."

"I'm not going to be the single vote that keeps them out."

"No. But Bucky, the twins. They don't need us. They'll fit in fine with the Avengers without our help."

"Clint, don't be stupid. You're going back to the Avengers. Let's be honest: you never stopped being one."

"You don't join then neither am I. I've made a lot of mistakes, Brock. I've let so many people down. I'm not doing it again. I've learned my lesson. I'm not letting you go off alone, to slip between the cracks. You walk, I walk with you."

Brock stared at him. "I can take care of myself," he said, iron in his voice.

"Sure you can. And I'll be right there with you to give you notes as you go."

"Clint," snapped Brock. "You can't pass on this. We both know what the Avengers mean to you…they're not just your team."

"You're not just my team either."

_"Clint."_

Clint's shoulders set. "I'm not letting you down Brock. Not again. We can board that jet right now if you like."

Brock let out an exasperated sigh: Clint and his bloody stubbornness. He looked over Clint's shoulder, through the glass windows into the common room and towards the Avengers, back to Steve and Tony and the whole damn goody two shoes set, and then back at Clint.

Once upon a time, he'd done atrocities to protect his men. His men, was now one single man: Clint. And as much as he hated the very idea of it, he supposed he could put up with the Avengers for his man.

After all, all those years ago, in that damn, forsaken village, he'd made harder sacrifices from the men under his command. Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe trading your world view for someone else's, was the biggest sacrifice you _could_ make.

"Fine," he snapped. "But don't expect me to sing kumbaya with Rogers and Wilson."

"Don't worry," said Clint, the lightness of his tone belied by his expression of sheer gratitude. "You only qualify for the kumbaya team bonding retreat once you've been in a year."

"Then I hope I die in action before that, because I'm pretty sure that would kill me."

"Yes," agreed Clint seriously. "That is how we lost our last six recruits. Steve takes kumbaya _very_ seriously."

Together, the two headed back into the Tower. Wanda looked up hopefully, from where she'd been having a quiet, intense conversation with the other two.

"It's unanimous," said Clint. "We're all in."

"Oh!" Wanda actually leaped forward and hugged Brock, who stood there more than a little stunned. She beamed up at him. "Thank you. The Rogues _couldn't_ split up."

"I have to admit," said Brock, "I'd rather be a Rogue than an Avenger. So let's stick with that name."

"Yes," agreed Wanda, "always."

* * *

It was late. Or rather it was early. Three in the morning before a place to sleep had been found for everyone in the Tower. The Soldiers and Stucker had been removed by Fury, Maria Hill, and a few other former Shield agents. The scepter handed over.

Clint was dead on his feet, but while Tony had said something about his room still being there for him, he'd sent Pietro to it and made his way back to the common room. As he entered the room, he found Pepper sitting on the couch with Tony. Whatever they'd been saying, as soon as he came in she stood up.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he said.

"It's okay. I'm heading to bed. It's good to see again," she said, and her smile was so genuine, so sincere, that it still hurt a little. There was still a feeling of not deserving this welcome, this forgiveness.

As she left the room, Tony came over to him. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."

"No…I actually…I actually have to go do something."

Tony blinked, surprised. "What?"

Clint pulled his phone out of his pocket, found a picture, and handed it to Tony, who stared down at a photograph of a dark head woman, her arms wrapped around a boy and a little girl.

"What's this?"

"My family," said Clint simply.

Tony looked up, shocked. "What?"

"That's my wife, Laura…and my kids, Lila and Cooper. I know there's a lot going on here. There's going to be the press to deal with after tonight and we've got two groups of people who have got to learn to get along but…they need me too. I go home regularly, and my last visit's been delayed. Like I said: I've let down one team…not letting down another. I'll be back by Wednesday."

Tony stood there for several seconds in continued shock. "I'm sorry…I'll be honest, I stopped listening after 'wife and kids'. You have a _family_?"

Clint chuckled. "Yeah I do. And next visit, you've got to come meet them. I'm pretty sure Pepper and Laura would get along like a house on a fire and will make the most terrifying team the universe has ever known. We've just got to hope they don't become super villains together. Or we're all lost."

Tony laughed and handed back the phone. "Any other secrets we don't know about?"

"Well…baby number three is on its way."

"…Okay. I don't think I can take any more excitement. I'm going to bed. See you Wednesday. And you'd better be back by Wednesday. Because I don't hold out high hopes for being able to stop Brock and Steve from killing each other for much longer than that."

Clint chuckled, and as Tony headed off, he went out on the roof and boarded the quinjet. He was tired but home and rest was just in sight. He could make it a little longer.

As he sat down in the pilot's seat, Jarvis's voice came over the coms. "Agent Barton?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say thank you for tonight…and welcome back."

Clint smiled. "Thank _you _for trusting me."

He clipped on the seatbelt, and just as he was reaching for the switch to shut the cargo door, heard footsteps coming up the ramp. He swirled around. Nat had changed out of her evening dress into dark jeans, t-shirt and a leather jacket. She dropped a bag onto one of the abandoned chairs.

"Nat?"

She came over and took the co-pilot's seat.

He stilled. "Nat, I-"

"You don't need to say it Clint."

"I do though. You gave me your trust and I know how hard that was for you. And then I broke it. I…Nat…it breaks me that I did that to you."

"Clint. I've owed you a debt for a long time. The way I see it…you gave me another chance once. And now I give you one. The debt's cleared. And we start new. We start even. And maybe that's a better way to move forward anyways. A stronger way."

"…I don't deserve it."

"Neither did I. Come on," she smiled at him. "I think it's time we headed home, don't you?"

He stared at her for a moment and then returned the smile. "Laura said you'd come home again."

"When are you going to learn? Laura is always right."

He grinned, suddenly not feeling nearly as tired. He shut the cargo door, and he pulled back on the throttle. The quinjet rose into the air.

* * *

The sun had risen by the time they reached the farmhouse. They landed a little ways off, and walked towards the house in companionable, comfortable silence. There was no strain, no tension. It was exactly as it had always been. Exactly as it should be. It was home.

There were still broken fences to mend, Clint reflected, there'd probably be doubt in the future. And yet, he didn't think it would be between him and Nat. And anything else could be faced and fixed. It would require work, but work he was prepared to put in.

The two mounted the front steps and he was reminded forcibly of the first time he'd brought her here. He should have been scared. Scared of what it would mean if he'd been wrong in her. But he hadn't been scared. He'd known in his soul that he knew _her_, just as now he knew in his soul that she knew _him._

He opened the door for her and she entered the house. As he followed her, he raised his voice: "Honey, I'm home!"

From the kitchen came Laura's call, and also a cry of delight from Lila. There were running footsteps and suddenly a gasp, as his little girl exclaimed, "Auntie Nat!" And Natasha was crouching down, arms wide.

Cooper and Laura were not far behind. Laura beaming at the sight of Nat. As Clint came over to greet Laura, she gave him a look that spoke so loudly of 'I told you so' that he couldn't help but laugh a little.

Laura kissed him, tenderly, and then moved forward to hug Nat. "I'm so happy to see you again."

"Me too," whispered Nat. "Me too." She turned to Cooper. "Hey." Her voice was soft and full.

He'd been holding back, hesitantly, uncertainly, but at this he shot forward and wrapped her in a hug. "You came back," he said.

She held him tight. "Of course I did. This is home."

He looked between her and Clint, doubt back. "You…you both are okay again?" he asked.

"Yes," said Nat, suddenly feeling an overwhelming relief as the last vestige of an agonizingly heavy weight lifted and vanished from her. "We are. Your dad saved my life tonight you know."

Cooper's face lit up in pride and delight. "He did?"

"Uh-huh. And the rest of the team's. He did real good tonight."

"Does this mean you're an Avenger again?" Cooper asked his dad hopefully.

Clint smiled a little sheepishly. "Yeah Cooper. I guess does."

Laura stared at him and then wrapped an arm around his waist, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Natasha bent down to Cooper's ear and, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, said, "Between you and me, I don't think your dad ever stopped."

**The End**

**AN: Thank you everyone so much for reading, and specially thank you everyone who commented. It meant a lot. I've been home since March, with most of my work put on hold, so being able to work on this was a delight during a difficult, stressful time, and knowing people were reading it, and getting lovely positive comments meant so much. I love writing, and writing in itself can be a delight, but knowing people are actually enjoying what you are writing is such a lovely feeling. I hope this ending didn't disappoint anyone.**


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